I wonder about the collective damage that is piled onto our psyche from rejections. Despite the “that’s the way it is” acceptance of the industry, do the rejections make us better writers, stronger humans, or battered and traumatized from 10, 50, 200 people saying “I’m not interested in you”? There’s a ton of heroic messages about recovering from a rejection and waking up the next day and writing more, but perhaps we need to address the personal effects 100 rejections have on us as humans. At the end of it all, are we better, or are we battered?
Thanks for laying it out so plainly... sometimes there's nothing new but rejections. Love that you can share that in-between space, it makes me feel better.
Rejection is always a bummer. Always. I've been writing for decades, and a rejection still sends me into a tailspin of self doubt. Two things help me. 1) Remembering that the New Yorker rejected a story by Saul Bellow after he won the Nobel Prize; and 2) Asking myself if there's anything about the rejected piece I could've done better.
I look again at the requirements of the publication and ask myself if my piece was really right for them. It's hard to tell when all you get is a standard form letter. So I really have to do all the inner detective work myself and be really honest about whether the craft on my story measures up, whether the content fits the publication, and whether my desire to sell something obscured my ability to see my story as an editor might see it.
One thing that helps me some is to fill the waiting with new writing. A new story, a new novel, whatever. It still hurts when the rejection letter comes. But at least you're already in the saddle. You don't have to worry about pulling yourself off the ground, even though the No may knock the wind out of you a bit.
Of course, everyone handles these things differently, according to their own temperament and personality. I hope you don't mind me adding my two cents to your very honest post. Best of luck to you!
I wonder about the collective damage that is piled onto our psyche from rejections. Despite the “that’s the way it is” acceptance of the industry, do the rejections make us better writers, stronger humans, or battered and traumatized from 10, 50, 200 people saying “I’m not interested in you”? There’s a ton of heroic messages about recovering from a rejection and waking up the next day and writing more, but perhaps we need to address the personal effects 100 rejections have on us as humans. At the end of it all, are we better, or are we battered?
Thanks for laying it out so plainly... sometimes there's nothing new but rejections. Love that you can share that in-between space, it makes me feel better.
Rejection is always a bummer. Always. I've been writing for decades, and a rejection still sends me into a tailspin of self doubt. Two things help me. 1) Remembering that the New Yorker rejected a story by Saul Bellow after he won the Nobel Prize; and 2) Asking myself if there's anything about the rejected piece I could've done better.
I look again at the requirements of the publication and ask myself if my piece was really right for them. It's hard to tell when all you get is a standard form letter. So I really have to do all the inner detective work myself and be really honest about whether the craft on my story measures up, whether the content fits the publication, and whether my desire to sell something obscured my ability to see my story as an editor might see it.
One thing that helps me some is to fill the waiting with new writing. A new story, a new novel, whatever. It still hurts when the rejection letter comes. But at least you're already in the saddle. You don't have to worry about pulling yourself off the ground, even though the No may knock the wind out of you a bit.
Of course, everyone handles these things differently, according to their own temperament and personality. I hope you don't mind me adding my two cents to your very honest post. Best of luck to you!
I am grateful for these stories. I do not do well with rejection. I am working on my own grumpiness. t
am grateful for this subscription.
Love always Mom