My latest submission to a magazine just came back with a rejection the other day. And, as usual, my response to the news was not quite… positive. In fact, I basically went through my typical motions: the immediate Here it comes rolling through my brain as soon as the telltale email popped up in my inbox. Followed, of course, by the impatient scanning through bland pleasantries before the writer of said generic automated response finally got to the point; and then the twist of disappointment, but not surprise, as that one key word caught my gaze:
Unfortunately.
Unfortunately, your work is not what we’re looking for right now. Unfortunately, the piece is “not for us.” Unfortunately, your submission “does not fit our current editorial needs.” Unfortunately, your story is “not right for our magazine.” With each rejection comes a new phrase that really only seems to serve as a euphemism for “your writing sucks.”
Or, at least, that may be all you’re likely to hear coming from the deepest depths of your negative psyche.
Rejection comes with the territory of writing. And frankly, I don’t intend to lecture you today on the importance of keeping your chin up and trying again. If you’re a writer, then you already know that. Any words of hope I could throw out to you are just going to be part of that generic gobbledygook that follows the sentence containing Unfortunately. And from lots (and lots) of experience, I know that more bland pleasantries are just not what you care to hear first thing after a rejection.
So what, exactly, can you do with rejection? For me, there’s normally a griping phase that quickly follows that accursed email clogging my inbox. Normally this includes a couple rounds of They wouldn’t know a good story if it came up and bit them in the butt, closing with my traditional encore number: This is why self-publication is so important; give audiences a chance to decide what they want in a story instead of a couple of pretentious twats who will only publish pretentious-twat material in a magazine that only pretentious twats will read.
And then after that I normally stop and take a breath.
As I said before, I’m not here to boost any wounded egos. Your writing is worth something, and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so set on getting up after you’ve been knocked down a few times. But there are several other angles to consider a rejection from before you chalk it up to: They just don’t know a good thing when they see it.
First of all, consider that they might be right. And no, I don’t mean “right” about the way that negative voice in your head has chosen to translate the rejection. No, I mean you should take some time to stop and consider that your work possibly a.) doesn’t fit with the typical style or genre of the magazine / publication; b.) doesn’t fit the theme they were aiming for with that particular issue / print; or, c.) might have just been at the bottom of a selection of really amazing pieces that they were more willing to publish over yours. (Hey, even the worst of the best is still pretty darn good.)
Second of all, consider the rejection a “critique,” and explore the possibility that the piece you sent in really does need some work. And once again, I must emphasize that the word “sucks” does not come into play here, either. A long time ago I wrote a short story that I was quite proud of—so I sent it off to a number of literary magazines, certain that at least one of them would bite. And all of my submissions came back with the dreaded Unfortunately tied to them. So, it sat on the shelf for a while. Then finally I presented it to an actual critique group, full of people who gave me some good advice on how I could expand the piece and ultimately add a little more meat to what was merely the skeleton of a story I could have been telling. Same concept, same visuals, same characters overall. But now with a little more.
And finally, yes. Consider the possibility that you are simply an artist ahead of their time, yet to be acknowledged by the more snobbish members of artistic and literary society. That if you could just find a way to get your work out to the masses, the people will love it and will flock to it, knowing complete and utter perfection when they see it.
But, let’s be real. Take a really long, hard look at my first two suggestions before you announce yourself as this century’s Van Gogh. True genius is quite rare: most of us are average Schmos just trying to do our best. Which means we need practice, we need first drafts, we need to do our research, and we need humility. Rejection is hard to take, so go ahead and allow yourself to be angry if that’s your first reaction. From my experience, anger is easier to move on from than disappointment—but don’t let yourself wallow in that, either. Because when all is said and done a rejection should be an opportunity for your work, and yourself as a creator, to grow.
It is not a death sentence.
— C.M.
Night Owls, what is your relationship with rejection? How do you handle it when it gets you down?
