For Writers, Rejection is a Rite of Passage

Last year I started work on an essay of popular culture criticism. It was just for fun at first, but I was passionate about it, and the more notes I took, the harder it became not to think of it as a serious paper instead of a simple blog post. I invested in it both emotionally and financially, buying books on my Kindle that would enhance the points, pestering friends who'd been to grad school as well to give feedback and advice, and badgered my husband constantly to be my sounding board when I had a new line of attack on my argument.

It was, honestly, a truly fabulous time for me.

When I completed it earlier this year, I devoted four weeks to revising it myself, following the old academic fear that you're not to share any work whatsoever until it's been submitted and officially acknowledged and received, otherwise the helpful "friend" who offered to giving it a proofreading run might submit it themselves under their own name. Knowing that writer is the worst editor for their own work, I devoted extra time, revised random paragraphs, printed up on paper to further the disconnect, and eventually got the draft to the state I wanted, and the length the journal required.

I hit "Submit", and spent the next 3 months living in abject terror of what the response might be.

It was a no.

The Re-Opened Wound

Any writer is no stranger to rejection once they start sending out their work. A lot of authors have their own "rejection routine" whether they respond to rejection by submitting to 10 more places, or baking a cheesecake so something good will come out of the day, or tacking every rejection to the wall as motivation, or simply putting them in a pile and lighting them on fire while shouting obscenities. Hugo Award winning author N.K. Jemisin calls deals with writer stresses in her Skyrim streams, which she calls "Therapeutic Murder". Me? I watch Hairspray until I’m not sad anymore, because it’s almost impossible for me to not be sad while listening to “Good Morning, Baltimore!”

I honestly thought those days were behind me until I remembered that submitting to a peer-reviewed journal is just as vicious as being reviewed by a "So. Fucking. Done." slush reader. When you see that word "Unfortunately" in the letter or e-mail, you usually skip the rest because you know what it means: No. We don't like it.

If you're suffering from depression that little voice in your head will hear the dinner bell chiming.

You're going to be hurt and sad, is what I'm trying to say, and here's my advice: Be hurt. Be sad. You poured your passion into a project and someone decided they didn't like it, and when we invest that much of ourselves into a work, it's no longer "We don't like it." It all too easily becomes, "We don't like you". Be hurt. Be sad. You deserve to feel sad without anyone judging you or trying to pull you up out of the darkness. Being hurt and sad is part of being human, and the only way out, often, is through. This is why writers have rejection rituals, because it makes them feel better, and a little more in control. Find your own, feel your feelings, and we'll see you on the other side.

The Golden Rejection

There are articles all over the internet about surviving rejection. Often, it depends on the kind of rejection that you got. The most common is the "stock rejection" or "form letter rejection", where it's just a simple no, nothing else. Some writers refer to these as "round file rejections" or, "kindling." More often than not, the closest you'll get to feedback in a stock rejection is often about the "market", but nothing else. Stock rejections are how some writers indulge their destructive impulses.

The "personal rejection" is next, where the rejection feels like it was written by an actual person. You're told why you're being rejected in this one, and it can either be the simple placations of "not our audience" or "you're a talentless hack and I just thought you should know that". Regardless, your work affected them enough that they felt you needed more than a form letter response. Sometimes you'll get vague suggestions on how to improve, but nothing that implies they got past the first 20 pages, or they stopped giving a damn afterward.

Then, there's the top of the hill, what's know as the "Golden Rejection", as it was called in my writing program. A Golden Rejection is where the publisher, editor, agent, or peer-reviewer still turns you down, but goes point by point in where you made missteps, where you needed to elevate tone, how you could fix it, other places that might be interested, etc. The key is that often a Golden Rejection will include two words in close proximity: Revise, and Resubmit. This is to mean that if you revise according to those suggestions and notes, publication might be reconsidered.

This is what my rejection ended up being, a split decision where one was a Golden Rejection, and the other was equating my paper to the one-ply toilet paper used to frustration at busy bus stations and airports. So I was hurt, and sad, and then I looked over the notes, knowing all of the suggestions would take some time, but weren't impossible.

Remember That You're Worth It

It's silly, but L'Oreal has the best advice for writers who choose to get back on the horse:

Whether you’re recovering from rejection or self-voting your own work on Steemit, often we need to remind ourselves that we’re worth the time and effort. It’s easy to give in to the rejections, the bad feedback that’s in no way constructive, the seeming lack of interest.

But you’re worth it. And if you aren’t hearing it, there are other writers to commiserate, celebrate, and hang out with. A writer’s circle is half feedback and half group therapy a lot of the time, but it’s also a reminder that you’re not alone out there, and that people do want to see you succeed, and believe that you’re capable of it. The writers of Golden Rejections see your potential, fellow writers can provide sanctuary as well as educated and/or experienced critique and editorial advice, and friends and family can provide the unconditional support that’s vital to push through the hurt and sadness of rejection.

Until then? Be hurt. Be sad. Find a way through. And remember it will pass. The dawn will come.