Rejection lessons
Last week, I got a rejection.
This isn’t anything all that exciting. It happens from time to time. In fact, I have yet to have my fiction published. I’ve gotten some personal rejections, even a request that I resubmit, but nothing.
I know this is how it goes. I worked on the other side of it, after all. I know that stories can be good, can hold interest, but just not quite have enough of that unnamed quality that tips the scale from good to published.
But, all the same, I had a type of breakdown. I had felt so confident about this piece; I was sure it was ready to go. Except they told me there wasn’t anything at stake in the story. (!)
I moped around at work (though, strictly speaking, that probably doesn’t have a whole lot to do with the rejection). I complained like nobody’s business. I’m sure I drove my family crazy with my “I suck” talk. Then I drank half a bottle of wine, and I forced myself to sit back down at the computer. Then I allowed myself to take a few days off, despite my goal to write 6 days each week. When I did finally start writing again, I didn’t touch the story that had so twisted my writing self esteem.
Finally, two days ago, after getting an encouraging email (or Facebook message) from a friend, I went back to work on the piece. First, I Googled the phrase “what’s at stake in your writing.” It wasn’t helpful. Then, without looking at my story, I wrote out a list of things that I saw as being at stake in the story. I came up with four things, and I ranked them in the order I’d intended them to be in. Then, because I was still feeling pretty miserable (“I have all these things that are SUPPOSED to be at stake, and it’s STILL not coming through!”), I started another list. One listing my strengths and weaknesses as a writer. I made myself start with the strengths. And, surprisingly (to me), I came up with a respectable list. I write clearly, with good rhythm and flow. My grammar and sentence structure knowledge is pretty solid. When someone points out something that needs to be changed, I tend to get it right, or much closer to right, on the next draft.
I still haven’t actually opened up the piece for more revisions, but, unlike last week, I know I will. And I’m sure there’s a lesson here. Maybe it’s that I need to wait longer to submit. Maybe it’s that I need to try to forget about a piece once I’ve sent it off. Maybe it’s that, on the whole, my stories tend to be too quiet and subtle. Maybe it’s that I need to get more readers to evaluate my pieces before I send them off. Maybe it’s all of these, or more. But one thing I know it definitely is is that I need to not take failure so seriously. As writers, we can’t let these things knock us down, because our stories, essays, poems can always be better, but at some point we still have to let them go, see what others think, and then be prepared to grow from the feedback. I’m going to work most on remembering this.
Yeah, I know how rejections go. I sent out a batch o’ work a few months back (about 15 submissions to venues all over the radar) and I’m batting a big old .000. I got one nice note, which is good, but I really want a few of the poems (like the title poem to my mss) to find a home. I haven’t heard back about all of the batches yet, so there’s hope, but I’m getting another salvo ready nonetheless.
To use a bizarre martial simile: Sending out work is like a skirmish between battleship fleets. The more shots you take (and the better you target them), the more likely you are to hit an opposing ship’s magazine and experience sudden (and total) success.
I love a bizarre simile. Also, bad puns. Good luck placing your stuff!
I learn from rejection all the time. I blog about rejection. I complain to my friends about rejection. It sucks, rejection that is. Sometimes a story needs to be revised or it needs to sit and percolate, other times it needs to just find the right editor. I’m pretty sure I know the story in question. It’s a great story. I enjoyed it. When I say send more, totally mean it. If you want less vague feedback on your story just e-mail me. I’d be happy to talk about it with you as I actually remember it.
Now that is an amazing editor.
One reason I’m so determined to be published there. It might take a while, but I plan to keep trying.
I hear only good stuff about her.
I don’t know why it was such a revelation to me that I could learn so much from rejections. And, looking at it now, a week later, I’m feeling much better about it, because I want my work to shine for what it is, not for what it could possibly be. I’ve been letting it sort of sit on the back burner of my mind, jotting down occasional notes.
And yes, it is that story, and thank you so much for the offer (as well as for taking the time to write a personal response to it in the first place; it makes such a difference in guiding revisions). And I have every intention of submitting again.
Er. By submitting again, I mean something new, of course.
The fact that they responded with any specific critique is encouraging in itself. How much easier is it to just reload the mss and stuff a rejection form in there? Soemthing must have moved the respondent enough for them to take the time to share what they thought was wrong with it. Often short stories are too subtle; make what’s at stake more explicit, then keep sending the story out.
Specific comments are pretty much awesome. When I got my first personalized rejection I was giddy. I think some of my non-writing friends thought I had finally cracked.
It’s just impossible to know if the problem’s with the story, or if the story just didn’t find the right editor/venue yet. I can’t tell for a long time after finishing a piece what’s wrong with it or how I need to change it, so one thing I try to do after finishing what I think of as a “final” draft is to send it out to a variety of mags, and if I get, I don’t know, ten or twelve or fifteen rejections, then I can start to think about re-evaluating and rewriting the piece. But I can’t do it right away after finishing the story. I might need nine months or a year away from it, which, if I send to 10 or 12 places, I will certainly have, and more. But again, I don’t want to even think about a rewrite until I’ve had a decent variety of rejections, because I’ll be weird and quite probably inaccurate in my read and just want to cut the hell out of the story and make these radical changes that might not be needed. I don’t mind a radical edit a year later (or whenever) when I’m approaching the story cold. But if it’s too soon, and if it’s surrounded by all that emotion of rejection, I sometimes don’t trust myself with the rewrite. On the other hand, sometimes I’ll get help from an editor or friend and will be able to do the rewrite as a result of seeing new possibilities in the story. My point is: before I send out, I like to have worked a story really hard, so that I feel pretty damn sure about it, sure enough to withstand 10-15 rejections before thinking about the rewrite (and becoming completely unsure again).
I’ve got a few pieces sitting in that don’t-want-to-think-about-it-yet stage. I know they need improvement, but I’m not quite ready to go back yet. Time is absolutely essential in reading my own work—something I didn’t learn until EWU. Yesterday I got a new filing cabinet for all my writing, and I was looking at a piece I used to think was so good. And then it got rejected, rejected… I can see the problems now. It’s almost as if the story is more something from someone else that I’m reading with the eyes of an editor, rather than as the writer. Now that I have a growing stack of stories, in different stages, I’m finding it easier to give each of them the time and attention they need.
Having good readers can really make a difference, too, especially because, while I feel capable of polishing a story on my own (with time), it can help speed up the process, and it helps me learn about my own tendencies as a writer.
Rejections suck, no doubt. Pretty sure I’ve lost count of my own running tally by now; somewhere in the 50′s. Still, I’ve always learned a lot from my rejections — either that my work could stand to improve, or that I really didn’t want to publish at those places anyway. Either way, chin up. You’ve got this :)
Only once have I submitted somewhere that I don’t want to submit too again, and that was because I submitted to a special theme issue (9 months before the deadline listed), and they rejected me after 13 months saying the theme wasn’t right. Oh well. Let’s me place the story somewhere else someday.
Sorry, Katherine. Failure is a vital part of getting better because you can’t relax or stagnate. It’s a salve against vanity and vain people are the most fragile, crapping their pants and giving up whenever something doesn’t go their way. Entering the slush pile takes more than just postage. Thanks to diminishing returns, rejection at least makes you better at receiving it. Wait until you’re on your hundredth or thousandth rejection.
You ever notice how bands who found easy success usually tank after the first hit album? It’s because they didn’t have time to ask themselves if they could do it better, to master their craft. Bands who had to suck for years tend to have a longer shelflife. Green Day (arguable, I know) made nine shitty albums before Dookie went platinum. The Goo Goo Dolls, however, got into the top 100 on their first try.
Whenever I get anything that is written by a human, a “Many Thanks,” or “This violates the no-contact order,” it makes my day. It’s the cold form rejections, the ones where I know my stuff didn’t even make it to the meeting, that used to bother me. I think about our own editorial meetings, and how we passed up on some great work for a number of legitimate reasons. The main reason is that what we’re doing is subjective.
It’s funny that you talk about vanity, because I’d never really thought of it that way before. Probably because you describe one of my foremost personality tendencies—one that I’m working hard to overcome. Until writing, I was always someone who quit when not the best at something, or having to work hard. It’s a trait that doesn’t match with writing at all.
Also, as a curiosity, do you get many “no contact” responses?
Most of my nonfiction rejections are cold. My fiction, for some reason, tends to get a warmer response. I keep trying to tell them that I got my degree in nonfiction, but they don’t care. When I’m careless, I’m disgustingly vain, and then I fail. I forgot to mention that whenever I get a particularly nasty rejection, I cope by writing five pages of the most trite genre fiction possible, with too many similes and adjectives and people saying things “wryly.” For some reason, magicians solving sex crimes in space is cathartic.
Send me that ms.
Rejection is a sign that you’re writing and sending stuff out and people are reading your stuff. That’s progress, not a bad thing. :-)
I like the way you think! It’s a feel-good thought, but it’s also true.
[...] Blogging about rejection has become a fairly common practice among writers across the world wide web, and as per my previous post, I think it’s a healthy practice, given it helps remind us that we’re not alone when we get that slip in the (e)mail. One thing I find interesting about many of these threads is the implication that there’s some kind of formulaic way to get your story “right,” so that it will be instantly accepted and beloved by all the journal’s you send it to. Sometimes, I like to head over to Roxane Gay’s blog, since her blogging about rejection will often make me feel better about my own rejection, but I do occasionally find it funny when she says things such as (and I’m paraphrasing here), I love this story but it’s been rejected six times. I’m going to have to go back and look at what’s wrong with it, because the I immediately think, who says there’s anything wrong with it just because six places didn’t want it? Six people can easily dislike something that six hundred people will love. I’m probably repeating myself here, but my recent story in LIT was rejected 35 times, and I never went back to tweak or rewrite it. Why’s that? Because I thought it was good, I knew it was good, and even those 35 rejections couldn’t tell me otherwise. Now, this isn’t always the case. There are instances where I’ll get five rejections and take a story out of my submission rotation because I realize rather quickly I was wrong and the story isn’t any good. What it comes down to for me is trusting my instincts. It’s also a matter of how determined I am to get a particular work into print. I suppose what’s most peculiar about writers is that, of artists, we’re one of the few bunches that will allow complete strangers to dictate what we think of our own work, and I’m not quite sure I understand it. [...]
Is this the story I told you I was going to read about six weeks ago? I did read it and mark it up and wrote half a critique and then got blindsided with the move and another rather pressing issue. I know where the marked-up copy is and I promise I’ll try to get it to you this week.
Because, you know, obviously my opinion is the one that will make it awesome.
No, it’s a different one. I’m still not quite confident with the one I sent you. And no worries; I know you’ll get to it.
I recently got an acceptance. This is not a braggy note. On the contrary, the message here is:
It was the first acceptance I got from strangers (strange editors?) in 2.5 years. I’d like to say I didn’t send out much work in that 2.5 years. But then I’d be lying. I got over a twenty rejections each for a couple of stories, and probably more than 50 rejections for poetry/poetry manuscripts. I’m sure I was rejected well over 100 times in that 2.5 year span.
Here’s to having faith in our work, in our own determinations of when and how to revise, and to unreasonable perseverance.
Hooray! I’m glad your work is flying around and folks are taking notice. That’s good news!
I totally agree with that last sentiment; unreasonable perseverance is certainly a requirement. In this respect, we are all brave little toasters.
With ducks,
b
I love your phrase “brave little toasters.” Just love it.
I like brave little toasters with ducks even more.
Always nice to hear when people have their hard work pay off. Congratulations on the acceptance! Hope to be joining that lovely club soon!*
*Soon can totally mean a few years. I’m okay with that.
[...] Kathryn wrote about it last week. [...]
Get many say no before person say yes. You are person make happy words for you. No let meanie get you sad. When person make me sad I eat ices creams. Sometimes kitty cat make sound that is fart or purr.
I’d say rejection and romance are similar in the sense that no matter how many times you’ve been turned down or dumped, it never really gets that much easier to deal with. Sure, you become better at pretending it doesn’t bother you, but deep down, you’re hurt, maybe just a little bit, maybe a lot, but it’s a hurt that only time can heal.
[...] goes along with it) are risky behaviors. When I can’t find the right words, or when I get a particularly rough rejection—sometimes I start to feel like my old self, just a bit. And I [...]
[...] goes along with it) are risky behaviors. When I can’t find the right words, or when I get a particularly rough rejection—sometimes I start to feel like my old self, just a bit. And I [...]