The Up Side of Rejection

By Mark W. Danielson

Let’s face it; rejection hurts. But here’s a look at it using the “glass half full” approach. What do you see when you look at this car? Depending on your perspective, it’s either a red Corvette or a timeless wheeled sculpture. I invested a lot of time restoring this twenty year old car to its present condition, just as I have invested time in writing novels. This car has won several first place awards, but it has also taken some second and third place awards, and even come home without placing. The same holds true for my novels and magazine articles; some were published on their first attempts while others went through several submissions and re-writes. After a while, you realize that such rejection is nothing more than a reviewer’s opinion.

Like many authors, I have seen my share of publisher rejections. Most say something like, “Thanks, but no. It doesn’t suit our needs.” The kinder ones conclude with, “best of luck.” Gee, thanks, except luck has nothing to do with getting published. Either my work fits their needs or it doesn’t. End of story, as it were.

I have kept every one of my rejection letters as a reminder of what it takes to meet a publisher’s parameters. Once in a while, the reviewer has offered some constructive criticism. One publisher didn’t like the names I had chosen for my characters, so I changed them, edited the entire manuscript to ensure the names and situations fit, and then resubmitted. This reviewer’s next response was more demeaning than helpful. “While we admire your perseverance, once we reject a manuscript, we will not consider it again.” That was like getting a head pat while being kicked in the rear – particularly since the reviewer never gave it a second glance. But that’s the nature of this business. Nothing personal. Either they like it or they don’t.

While it’s nice to think that whoever is reviewing your work would have a little more compassion, they don’t have any time for it. Reviewers are swamped with manuscripts, so if something doesn’t immediately catch their eye right away and spell mega-sales, it dies a swift death. Having said that, authors should remain true to their style. After all, it’s who you are. Changing your style to appease a reviewer is ludicrous because there is no way to predict your reviewer’s mood when your work crossed their desk. Case in point, consider John Grisham’s book, The Firm. Grisham had plenty of rejections with this book, but he believed in it enough to self publish. Unfortunately, no one noticed. He had closets full of these books and couldn’t give them away, but then the right person noticed and cared. Sales exploded once The Firm was re-published, then it was made into a movie, and suddenly a new mega-star author was born. Vince Flynn falls into the same category. So were the reviewers right about Grisham and Flynn? Survey says no – at least for these two authors.

The moral of the story is to accept that rejection as part of the writing business. When you receive a negative response, it means that on that particular day with that particular reviewer, your work didn’t shine, so learn from it, make sure it’s what you want, and then submit it to another publisher or agent. If you are concerned about time, then never agree to an “exclusive” look. Instead, sent it to as many agents and publishers as possible, assuming your work meets their criteria. And don’t forget about entering writing contests. It’s a tough business, but you have nothing to lose.

You Gotta Have Heart

By Beth Terrell

The topic du jour at work of late has been the Olympics. We’ve seen story after story about these athletes—the greatest in the world—and the sacrifices they’ve made to get to the winter games in Vancouver. We saw a pairs skater go onto the ice with torn tendons in one ankle; she skated beautifully, and no one watching could have guessed she was in terrible pain. We saw a speed skater with metal pins holding the bones of his forearm together. We saw a downhill skier who, after a debilitating accident, competed in her sport of choice three weeks after doctors told her it would be months before she could even begin to walk. We saw a skater perform on the day of her mother’s death, and we saw the team from Georgia carry on after the tragic loss of one of their teammates on the first day of the games. No doubt about it, these young men and women have a special kind of courage—the kind we often call Heart.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I have what it takes to hobble out into the snow with a sprained ankle, put on a pair of skis, and pitch myself down the side of a mountain. Thankfully, as a writer, I don’t have to. But I think writing requires its own brand of Heart.

Like Olympic athletes, writers spend thousands of hours honing our craft. I’ve read that you have to write a million words before you become a master of your art. That means showing up at the computer (or paper, or typewriter), whether we feel like it or not, whether inspiration strikes or not. Day after day, word after word, one sentence after another.

Like Olympic athletes, writers “put themselves out there.” There’s no place to hide when you’re the only one on the ice, or the only one on the ski slope, and there’s no place to hide when your name is on a book that can be picked up and read by potentially thousands of readers. Olympic athletes have to deal with judges and timers. Writers have to deal with critics and reviewers. Olympic athletes give a hundred percent to every competition. Writers give a hundred percent to every book. We put our hearts on the page for the world to see.

Olympic athletes never give up. In the face of injuries, poor performances, broken equipment, and discouraging words from others, they persevere. Writers persevere as well. Today, I read an article about a writer with an impressive number of published short stories—and 11,000 rejections. Can you imagine how hard it must be to keep writing and submitting after 11,000 rejections? Now, that takes Heart.

No, I don’t have what it takes to be an Olympic athlete, but I hope I have—or at least can cultivate—that special kind of courage it takes to be a writer. I hope I have a writer’s Heart.