I had a mural of them at one time. I glued or taped the small, mostly-anonymous notes onto a huge piece of cardboard nailed into the wall in front of my desk, and painted and drew on them, added postcards, food stains, fire. After the mural was complete, I began stabbing my rejections on a ticket stabber, like the kind you see in restaurants. This was satisfying--skewering them, pressing the paper down with its kin, a kabob of polite refusals. Eventually, there was no room to stab more so I stuffed them all in a pillow-sized envelope, labeled it with the years of attempts and eagerness it represented, and tossed it into the very top of my closet; it nests between the used Mac SE I painted blue and the pineapple lampshade my mother made. As of this writing, I've about half-filled ticket stabber 2.0. I should have filled it completely by now. I will eventually.