Every writer dreads the letter or email that begins with the
usual “We enjoyed reading . . . but . . .” At that moment we die, or at least I
do. I can feel myself sinking into the mud of disappointment, where I shall
remain until I can find something cheerful to pull me out of my misery.
Rejection is part of the writing life. John Creasey received
743 rejection slips before he sold his first mystery. He set the standard of
perseverance for the rest of us. One editor considered A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle “neither long enough for a serial nor short
enough for a single story.”
The writer who has never received a rejection of her ms has
never sent one out. Everyone gets rejected at some point, usually in the
beginning, but sometimes repeatedly over the years. It’s part of trying new
things, taking risks as a writer, and reaching out to unknown editors. We never
know as writers who will like our work and who will not see anything good in it.
Over the years, however, I have learned that the rejection letter sometimes isn’t
a rejection letter. It’s a delicate prod for the writer to make certain changes either in the
ms or the publishers being approached.
I remember one letter (and it was a letter, arriving in a
stamped envelope, before everything was done by email) in which the editor
complained the submitted novel had no “pizzazz.” I’ve never forgotten that
word. I didn’t write the novel to have pizzazz. Scribner eventually published
it as Murder in Mellingham.
A colleague received a rejection, she thought, from a
publisher who, I felt confident, would take the book. She was so disappointed
until I read the email and saw the error in her thinking. They liked the ms,
but it was too long. She set about trimming, resubmitted, and the novel was
accepted and published.
A publisher rejected one of my titles in the Anita Ray
series, and the rejection left me surprised as well as sad. I reread the email
several times, particularly the paragraph complimenting me on my wonderful
writing. I reread the ms, found the passages where I’d fallen asleep at my desk,
resubmitted, and the ms was accepted.
Over the years I’ve learned to read rejection letters with
my own personal dictionary at hand—the one that offers several definitions of
the word no and its relatives. I also
turn to the gem of a book Rotten
Rejections, and comfort myself with the observation that other writers
better than I have had it worse.
Most editors are polite today, even if they dislike
something. Right now I’m glancing at one editor’s comment on John le Carre’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. “You’re
welcome to le Carre—he hasn’t got any future.” This is to remind us all that
editors may be the gatekeepers, but they can be—and often are—wrong.
At one time I considered papering my bathroom with rejection letters.
ReplyDeleteI keep them in a folder near at hand, just in case I need to be reminded that I make my share of mistakes. But I don't want to look at them every day on the wall! Thanks for commenting.
DeleteSo true Susan, so very true. Sometimes it takes more work for good reasons. love and holiday hugs to you, Lyn
ReplyDeleteThe comments often make me a better writer. And hugs to you and Dick.
DeleteTo add to Kathleen's comment, I could have easily papered the interior of my whole house with rejections. I still get them, but there are enough acceptances to make it all worthwhile. Sometimes rejections are helpful in improving our work.
ReplyDeleteThat lesson is hard to learn, Jacquie, when all we see is the words "no, not for us." But you're right. Rejections can be helpful in putting us on the right path. Thanks for commenting.
DeleteRejections are especially hard when the editor says they love your story, but are waiting for more to come in--then you wait, and get the inevitable, "We had SO many to choose from." Arrgh.
ReplyDeleteGood luck on your search for an agent!
Arrgh is right. That's a tough one, Bobbi, an acceptance withdrawn. But we keep going and sell the story somewhere else. Thanks for adding that variation on my theme.
ReplyDelete