Beautiful Rejection
Much More than a Designer
Saturday I got a rejection and I couldn’t wait to open it. The return address (in my handwriting since it was an SASE) stated it was from The Atlantic, and I can’t get enough of C. Michael Curtis’s personal notes.
I think this most recent one was my best C. Michael Curtis rejection yet:
This is clever, but not really a story, and its tangents are scattered. I hope you find a market for it.
He actually thinks a market for it might exist. And he thought it was clever. My rejection from last June went like this:
This one eludes me, I’m sorry to say, but thanks for the look.
See how polite and encouraging he is? I adore this man.
I know my students often tell me they can’t tell when I’m joking and when I’m not. I am not joking now. I really appreciate C. Michael Curtis’s dedication to editing and treating writers like humans worthy of human feedback. Which is unfortunate for him, because it means I’m going to keep sending him my stories.
Somewhere I have another rejection from C. Michael Curtis, but I can’t find it right now. What that means is: I probably slipped it between the pages of whatever I was reading at the time so I could remind myself that I had a note from you-know-who. I think it said something like, “the story is weak” but it probably said something kind, too.
I hope people don’t take this the wrong way. I certainly don’t mean any disrespect by displaying my personal rejections. Rather, I want people to know that there are editors who personally read and respond to the work they receive. And as I get to know C. Michael Curtis and his aesthetic, I enjoy seeing his take on things.
I’m thinking about rejection today for many reasons:
- It is a natural part of the writer’s process.
- Kathryn wrote about it last week.
- I recently found out one of my very talented writer friends has never submitted anything. In response to a table of shocked writers he said, “Well, at least I’ve never been rejected.”
- I realized the public rejection is part of what I find profoundly helpful and inspiring about watching Project Runway.
People often respond with surprise when I tell them that Project Runway is one of my favorite shows (after The Office and Seinfeld). I always loved the parts on Sesame Street where you get to “go” inside the factory and see how olives are canned or paper is cut and packaged in reams. On Project Runway you get to watch a process even more exciting than these: designers receive a set of parameters in which they need to work; they sketch ideas; choose fabric, closures, and trims; they drape, cut, and sew; their garments are walked down the runway with professional deliberate, dramatic steps, turns, and poses.
But perhaps the part of the show that fuels me most as a creative, attempting-to-create person is the part in which people are eliminated and the grace with which they virtually always exit.
I’ll give you an example of the most moving response to rejection I’ve watched so far. For anyone who has not yet watched Season Two, you may not want to read on—that is if you are the type of person who wants to be surprised by who wins.
When Nick Verreos, who studied political science and international relations prior to becoming a designer and who was raised in Venezuela where his father was a diplomat, was cut this is what he said:
My family has always been so supportive of me and I think when the show ends, my dad will turn to my mom and say, ‘Raquel, we did well. I’m very proud of our son. That’s a good boy.’
I am impressed by Verreos’s inclination to give an appreciative nod to his parents at this painful moment. I’m impressed by his willingness to make himself vulnerable in front of the whole Project Runway audience. You know you can’t say something like his above quote without crying, and I respect that he prioritizes public appreciation and personal vulnerability. He lets us witness his suffering through rejection and his ability to cull beauty from the experience.
What do you make of rejection? How does it affect you? Have you ever received any funny rejection letters from editors?
Wow, that’s pretty cool. Good job, dudette. About two years ago, I got a nice rejection/ask for more from David Barber the poetry editor at the Atlantic, and I did a happy dance when I got it. I liked it so much, I immediately it put it in my “don’t lose these letters” folder in the fire safe.
As for funny rejections, one of the first submissions I sent out was scribbled on the tiniest piece of paper (maybe 1.5 x 1.5) and it looked like the editor had been drunk when they wrote it. It was a compliment, as far as I could tell.
I bet you’ve sent some pretty awesome rejections, too. That should be my next goal: to receive a personal rejection from Brett Ortler.
Also: I love that part of Sesame Street too! There was a section of Mr. Rogers like that too. distinctly remember the “how crayons were made” segment. I was about 5 and crayons were a major part of my existence at that time (ok, they still are); for a similarly profound experience for me today, they’d have to show me “how philosophical axioms exist in the Platonic heaven” or something to that effect. (Or they could just show me “how Trappist beer is made.” It’s about as transcendental.)
I remember the crayon segment, too!
I want to see the creation process of your current interests. I have a feeling the one on “how philosophical axioms exist in the Platonic heaven” could only be made by you. But maybe that would be a fun assignment to give to students…
Right on, Shira. I enjoy receiving rejections, too. Acceptances are of course better, but rejections at least tell you that you’re out there trying, that someone is considering your work. I have a big file folder of them. I like getting rejected by the magazine The Normal School, because they send you a sticker that says, “I was rejected by The Normal School.”
You are one of the reasons I get these funny letters from C. Michael Curtis. The first time I submitted to The Atlantic, I didn’t receive a personal note. The second time I submitted to The Atlantic, I wrote: “My friends have been swapping stories about their funny, kind, and mysterious C. Michael Curtis rejection letters lately, and I am hoping to receive one of my own.”
I was amused by the letters you and Paula had received from Curtis.
Thanks for your ongoing inspiration and support, Writing Buddy.
Hi Shira! I’ve not received any interesting rejections thus far, but I find it interesting that although I’m a nonfiction writer, my poetry has been published twice in the past couple of years, but my nonfiction, nada.
Rachel Toor wrote about Project Runway and likened it to a writing workshop, and we actually used some of the phrases from it. Like, once we talked about the good stuff on any given piece, we’d switch to “I’m concerned (about)…” and then we’d go off on that. And one of the best and most nebulous things Rachel taught me is that you can write about anything, any way you want, as long as you “Make it work!” Here’s the article: http://chronicle.com/article/Fashion-Lessons-for-Graduate/48773/
What a great Rachel Toor article. Thanks for sending the link, Tanya. And congratulations on your poetry publications. I’d love to see some of your poetry…
Here’s my most recent one at Literary Mama: http://www.literarymama.com/poetry/archives/2011/04/on-change.html and here’s from The Smoking Poet: http://thesmokingpoet.tripod.com/spring2010/id19.html Both are poems about my kiddos.
Tanya, Thanks for posting those links. These poems are beautiful. I love the form of “On Change” at Literary Mama. And the humor. In the poems at both sites you write complexly about your children in ways that make us all care. The “so what?” offers no danger here.
Thanks, Shira. You seem like just about the nicest person around, and I very much appreciate your kind words all over this blog. :)
Oh, I’m sorry that it seems you misunderstand me–I’m not nice. Just overly honest. It’s fun getting to know you in these here parts.
Thanks for the shout-out (and for calling me talented, although “young” would’ve felt nice too). I’m on it. I promise. By the next meeting. I swear.
And also brilliant, hilarious, generous, down-to-earth–shockingly young.
It pleases me to see someone putting up this kind of effort when dealing with their own slushpile, even in the upper echelons; makes me think I might have to submit some work to the Atlantic next time.
As far as my own experiences with rejection go. I dunno. Rejection has always been the default for me, so rather than reacting to that it’s always been more of a sense of shock at being accepted. Rejection always makes me wonder what the other person did right, or did better than I, so I feel compelled to go back and see for myself. More often than not I see rejection as a chance to resubmit somewhere else, which no matter what always makes me feel productive about my own work.
Wise as always.
Rejection is how you know you’re trying. There’s so much more of it than acceptance that you have to make it something positive out of it, or try to, i think.
I got a strange response just yesterday — a whole new level of notification. A magazine notified me, seven months after I submitted, that I had cleared the first round of reading. It would be another six months or so before a final decision was made. I may forget the story entirely by the time it’s rejected.
This actually made me excited. Then it made me feel kind of pathetic — so desperate for affirmation that I’ll cling to a “maybe” like it’s a freaking pulitzer prize. Then i stopped thinking any way about it at all, and started thinking about a new story.
Electric Literature does that. They sent me a notification in December saying it made the first cut, and though they ultimately passed on it, it gave me a renewed faith in a story that had had a slew of rejections elsewhere and made me decide to go back and revisit/revise it. I haven’t submitted the newer, hopefully improved version yet, but getting such a message can give you back some of the confidence that those form rejections can sap from you.
Electric Literature doesn’t always do that–not the times I submitted, anyway. Congratulations on having those cool guys love your work, Jason.
Told like a pro.
I hear over and over again that publishing is like a numbers game. The more you submit, the more you’re likely to get published. I personally think it isn’t about how much you submit, but if you keep submitting, that means you keep on writing. Writing makes you a better writer.
To me, rejections is a sign that I’m sending stuff out and that people are reading my work. Often I get great feedback included with a rejection.
I’m also very aware that there will never be a time in my writing career during which I will not receive rejections. Published writers still get rejection. So, I might as well get used to it and use them to my advantage.
Even if it isn’t true that 50 rejections = an acceptance, I’m barreling forward as if it were.
I just submitted poetry to two contests/publications (only my 2nd time submitting work ever). I wasn’t very excited about it because I assumed rejection, but told myself if I was going to be serious about writing, I still had to submit. Now I’m excited for any response, good or bad. Thanks Shira :-)
Daniel R. Adrian, it’s so good to see you. I was just thinking about you. I hope the writing is going well–I loved the work I saw of yours a couple weeks ago. You are just about the only person in the universe who won a contest on his first ever submission. I hope for much more wild and deserved successes for you.
[...] cheek, on the similiarties between literary and romantic rejection. And since there have not been nearly. Enough. Posts. On rejection. On this. blog yet. And in all seriousness, most are quite good. [...]
[...] on the similiarties between literary and romantic rejection. And since there have not been nearly. Enough. Posts. On rejection. On this.blog yet. And in all seriousness, most are quite good. [...]
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