Wear Your Rejections with Pride

My husband has a great quote. "I didn't do it because it was easy. I did it because I thought it would be easy."

Which pretty much describes all writers.  We all thought it would be easy, or, at least, easier, because good writers make it LOOK easy. Because they’ve mastered the craft for just that reason. So that stories will flow naturally and effortlessly, drawing you along in a powerful current.  

It’s only when you try it for yourself that you begin to understand the challenges. How almost nothing about character or voice or story structure flows easily onto a blank page. Not until you’ve practiced (and failed) over the course of a million words.  

That character who jumped off the first page and sunk right into your heart, like someone you’ve known all your life? Try it. See how easy it is to make up that person.  

 Sure, there are writers with more natural talent who pour out some stellar writing early on in their careers. But can they sustain it? Rarely. Not without putting their noses to the grindstone to understand why certain works succeed and others fail.

For those of us who have no success at all early on, we only have the grindstone. But the grindstone is an exacting and effective teacher. IF we’re listening to the lessons. IF we’re trying and failing and trying again.

And why do we listen? Because we get rejected. And it hurts.

Rejection is part of our teaching. It’s the kick in the butt that none of your loving friends or family will give you. It’s the prodding red hot poker that makes us go back and work harder. Start over. Rewrite. Begin something new.

None of it’s easy, but all of it’s necessary. Friends who tell you how much they love something that proceeds to get turned down by a hundred agents, well, not sure how useful that was.

I’ve been taking my rejection on the chin over the past six years. I recently realized I’ve taken enough that it was worth tallying them all up. For rejections of novels, there have been 223 of them (and more to come!) For rejections of short fiction, there are 49 rejections and 52still on submission (of which at least 95% will be rejections – if not 100%!)

How do I feel about these?

Crazily enough, the answer is that I feel proud. And I’m not sugar-coating anything. Why? Because I can look back and know how hard it was to send my words out into the world. To submit even when I knew I would almost certainly get rejected.

Every one of those rejections hurt a little bit, some more than others, and I’m still standing. I haven’t quit, I haven’t cried. (OK, well, that’s not true. I have cried.) But the first ones hurt more than the recent ones. My early rejections ruined my whole week. Then they began to ruin just my day. Now, if I’m lucky, they sting a few minutes and go away. I read that to mean my skin has grown thicker. I’m flexible and resilient and I’ll keep working at my craft—whether or not I have any tangible success.

I feel proud of my recent work, and certain I can turn moreof my ideas into actual good stories. Ideas are cheap. Execution is everything.

And what made me learn this the hard way? Only rejection.

Rejection has made me strong.
Rejection has required courage.
And I’ll need plenty more courage for the dozens of rejections still coming my way.