Get rejected early and often (Redux)

How writing helps you get over your fears plus three tips for handling rejection well (assuming that’s possible)

Spring seems to be the season of rejection. Or maybe it’s just me. I’m racking up the rejections and hearing from other writer-friends having similar experiences. So I thought I’d re-post this from back in 2022. It went out only to paid subscribers, so if you’re not one of those, you missed it (fix that by hitting the button below)

I still stick by the sentiment here—I think I am a braver person in some ways for having put myself out there. Also, rejection still sucks. Read through to the end for my yearly rejection tally and details about joining the reject-a-thon chat and making this the Summer of Rejection! Hurray!

I have a lot of ideas. I’ve tried to convince my friends that they should pay me for my ideas. I haven’t had much success, unless you count the paid version of this newsletter (and thank you all, my lovelies, who are, in fact, paying to hear my ideas…if you’d like to join them, click the button below).

I have a lot of ideas, but not all of them become reality. Not because I’m afraid, but because I have enough self-awareness to know that a lot of my ideas aren’t things that I’m really interested in doing. They’re the kid of ideas that I’d like to see someone else give a try. Just not me. This is called self-awareness. It’s a good thing.

For the most part, when I have an idea that I’m really passionate about and that is, in fact, interesting enough to me, I do it. Teach some writing classes in town. Yeah, done. Write a book about gender as a choose-your-own-adventure. Check. Have a series of parties where people make a seasonally appropriate drink—that was a very good idea.

Photo by Olena Sergienko on Unsplash

I am very much a doer and I have to remind myself that not everyone else is. I am a problem solver. A risk-taker, even if it’s hard to think of myself that way. Even if that’s not how I started out.

As a child, I was pretty risk averse, the kid who really only wanted to bounce so high on the trampoline, thank you very much. In high school I admired the kids who were brave enough to be different, but I didn’t have the courage to do it myself. Moving all the way to Mississippi for college was maybe brave, but mostly felt like what I absolutely had to do in order to survive.

So when did I become, if not exactly fearless, than at least mildly bold? It might just be a factor of age, or as I tell my students, inevitably running low on fucks to give. But I think it also has to do with writing. Specifically, the intense training in rejection that writing involves.

You can certainly be a writer and avoid rejection. It’s pretty simple, actually. You just never show your writing to anyone else and this is a perfectly acceptable way in which to be a writer. Writing can be something you do totally for yourself and yourself alone.

But if you want a slightly larger audience—even say an audience of two instead of one—you’re probably going to encounter some rejection. Even your mom or your bestie or your spouse will probably not love absolutely everything you write. Low-grade rejection is inevitable.

If you want an even bigger audience—hundreds or thousands of people—prepare yourself for a rejection onslaught. As a writer, you get rejected most of the time. Let me say that again—most of the time. Until you’re Stephen King and then I guess it’s all golden, though I suspect even he’s harboring some resentment about an award he didn’t get or an event he didn’t get asked to or one of his books that didn’t get made into a movie or TV show.

If you want people to read what you write, you have to put yourself out there. And out there again. And again. And, yes, then still again. You have to say fuck it and roll the dice because if there’s one thing that’s true in writing, it’s nothing ventured, nothing gained. As a writer, you’re not going to get discovered waiting tables and become a star (not that this happens that often in Hollywood, but it sounds at least plausible). I mean, I guess you could write your poems on the check and hope an editor sitting at your table falls in love with your words, but it seems a bit unlikely and even that involves first writing the poem on the check in the first place and taking the risk that someone will pick it up and say, “What’s this crap?” Hence, rejection.

Writing isn’t the only job or field that has rejection so deeply built into it’s normal functioning, of course. You can easily practice rejection as an inventor or a painter. Everyone looking for a job or the love of their life or just a good friend will probably face some rejection. Maybe writing just feels like a special reject-o-rama to me.

Still, there is an upside to being knocked on your ass so often and learning to get back up. I’m not convinced it makes the getting knocked down easier. But you do learn that there’s life after the getting back up. You survive. You lick your wounds. You try it again. Every now and then, something good comes out of it. You learn how to be better. Or you get lucky and once in a blue moon, someone says yes instead of no.

But only if you ask. Only if you put yourself out there. Only if you try. So, why not? What’s the worst that could happen? You drink too many delicious autumnal cocktails? That’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Three tips for handling rejection

- Get organized about it. I do love a good chart and rejections provide you with an abundance of chart-ready data. Pick the organizational method that brings you the most joy. Graph paper and colored pencils. A good spreadsheet. A stack of printed rejections to burn in a ceremony of ritual purification. Do what feels good, but whatever method you use, try to keep track of the type of rejections (form, personal, or the coveted no-but-please-send-us-more). There is progress even in rejections, like going from a lot of form rejections to more personal and send-me-more varieties. Tracking that progress is good way to remind yourself that even though it feels like nothing is happening, you are getting better.

- Get goal-oriented about it. I’ve always admired the folks who make it a goal to get 100 rejections in a year. I’m not sure if I’ve ever gotten there, though not for lack of trying. Of course the point here is to force yourself to keep sending things out, whether it’s freelance pitches or submissions to literary magazines or query letters. Become a rejection machine, like the Terminator. In fact, repeat that to yourself every time you get rejected, “I’ll be back,” only in a new submission sort of way rather than a destroy your planet sort of way.

- Get social about it. I know some writers who gather online or in-person for social submitting. They pick a day and a time to just send out crap-tons of stuff together. I’ve never done this myself, but I like the idea, like the rejection version of a quilting bee or a knitting circle. There’s the social accountability it provides, as well as the bonus of having a bunch of people rooting for each other. Then when you get that acceptance, you already have a community to share it with.

In the spirit of you-show-me-yours and I’ll-show-you-mine, I’m up to 13 rejections for 2024. That includes from literary magazines and agents. My best rough estimate of rejections since I started writing seriously again in about 2013 is at least 400. That doesn’t include the stack of actual physical letter (as in an envelope, stamp and piece of paper) rejections from literary magazines I accumulated back in the 90s. Feel free to share your own total in the comments or on the chat.

If you’re interested in getting social and getting goal-oriented with your rejections, join the Summer of Rejection chat, where you can talk about your own tips for dealing with rejection and set some solid rejection goals. No one should face rejection alone. Join in here.

Finally, folks looking for help with query letters or first pages or editing or other writing services, I’m open for business. Check out my website, here, or DM me here or just respond to this e-mail.