A Love Letter to the Rejected Writer

Dear Writer:

You’ve had another story rejected. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve submitted this particular piece, and you’re wondering if you should bother doing it again. I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times.
Submitting to literary journals is a disheartening process. You spend time in your room, at your kitchen table, or in coffee shops—writing, writing, writing—then you wind up your courage and fire off your submission to a journal. Days, weeks, then months pass. You try to keep yourself from obsessively checking the status of your submission online. Finally, you get an email. It’s a rejection. Then you rage, cry, or just get depressed. And you do it all over again.
The writing process is difficult enough, but the submission process comes with its own constellation of negative spirals and rabbit-holes. If you are like me, you use Submittable for most submissions to literary journals. I love Submittable. It keeps my submissions in order, and I can download a list of everything I submitted and to where. As of this month, I’ve made more than a hundred submissions since January of 2016. I haven’t submitted a hundred separate stories or essays—that would be crazy. Neither have I published a hundred pieces since I started using Submittable. However, I’ve submitted individual pieces as many as ten times to different journals.
This last September, Penmen Review, which comes out of Southern New Hampshire University, published “My sister Maddie,” a piece I wrote nearly a decade ago. Before Penmen Review picked up the story, it had been rejected by nine other journals. Often, it’s a question of the fit between the story and a particular issue or journal. Editors tell me this repeatedly. It still doesn’t help with processing a stream of rejections, especially when that piece has cost you more time and emotional energy than you give to many of your relationships.
As a rule, the rejections that find me—usually at awkward moments on the bus or in the mall—are form letters that say the same thing.

Dear William Thompson:

Thank you for submitting to our journal. We receive many submissions for each issue, but unfortunately we can’t publish everything…

I understand the point of the form letter. Editors don’t have time to comment on individual submissions. However, now and then I will get a comment from an editor that is thoughtful, encouraging, or offers a snippet of helpful feedback. I’m always grateful for such comments.

“This is quite well written, with strong atmospheric details.”
“The story is very powerful, relating the protagonist’s situation to his mother’s is very impactful. I suggest giving the protagonist a name and more description. It will make the story more visceral.”
“I found parts of this fascinating, but all the pieces didn’t fit together in a way that felt unified to me.”

Feedback is always good. You don’t have to like it; it just needs to make you think about your work from someone else’s point of view. Difficult, I realize. And rejections always carry a particular sting, no matter how many you’ve received.
I remind myself regularly that submitting as part of my work as a writer—in the way that writing this blog is part of that same work. Researching journals that might be a good fit for a particular story or essay takes time. I also try to read something a journal has published before I submit, which isn’t always possible, depending on whether or not the journal has sample pieces available on their website. I set a goal—say, eight or ten submissions a month. I keep a folder of pieces that are in circulation, and I work on pieces I can add to the circulation folder. I happen to be good at compartmentalizing my life—not such a fabulous quality in some ways, but it makes this particular process easier.
Rejection doesn’t mean your work is bad, or that no one likes it, or that you should give up any thoughts of being a writer and take a job somewhere that never reminds you of your love for the written word. Rejection means you are out there—for good or ill. No one can reject something you’ve written if you don’t submit it. And no one can accept it either. Writing is a process, but so is submitting. And both require you to put a little iron in your soul, first for the sake of finishing that story you have to write, then getting it out into the world.

Yours in Fellowship,
Bill

6 thoughts on “A Love Letter to the Rejected Writer”

  1. “No one can reject something you’ve written if you don’t submit it. And no one can accept it either. ”
    So true. It even goes for writing itself – no one can reject your writing if you do it first yourself by not putting any words down in the first place… So much of writing is overcoming fear. I needed to hear that today.

    1. Angelika. Thanks for the comment. And yes, it’s possible to hang one’s self by not putting words down in the first place. Happy writing!

  2. Thanks for writing this. As someone with hundreds of rejections, it does still sting a little to receive another. And there are moments where I tell myself to just give it all up, especially after a story has been rejected for the 13th time (my inner voice saying, “You’re obviously not any good at writing.”) So, this is great encouragement to keep writing and submitting.

    1. Hello Christina. Thanks for your comment, and you are welcome. I wrote this piece as encouragement, partly for myself, but also for everyone I know who regularly deals with such rejections. Getting pieces rejected is hard, and at worst demoralizing. I’m not always sure what makes me keep submitting sometimes, whether it’s stubborn denial or just bloody-mindedness. I hope you are able to find some encouraging words about your work from friends or family. I have learned that people who provide such encouragement are called resonators. Every writer needs one. If you haven’t read the piece, “Why You Should Aim for 100 Rejections a Year,” here’s a link. Best.
      http://lithub.com/why-you-should-aim-for-100-rejections-a-year/

        1. Angelika. You are welcome. The piece helped me alter my thinking around rejections—for the most part. Rejections still carry a sting, but it’s helpful to think of them as simply part of the submission process.

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