We can't all be heroes.
On the 17th Jan, 2008, I got my second rejection for the tender romance novel I spent a year of my life writing. It also came via email and comprised of three polite sentences. Three polite sentences for a year’s work! Suffice it say, it didn’t go down too well.
I did what I always do when I get a rejection, I launched straight into damage control. You know, the whole fall off the bike, get back on, laugh through your tears, stand up in the face of oppression manoeuvre. Of course, that can be really hard especially when you’re subconscious insists on being counterproductive.
“Another rejection! Isn’t this telling you something. This book is a lost cause!”
Ignoring your subconscious, especially mine, involves keeping busy. I got up, made myself a hot cup of coffee and immediately began surfing the net for other publishers. I burnt my tongue on my too hot coffee as I absentmindedly tried to gulp it down. The pain momentary blocks the voices in my head. But not for long.
"What's the point? You are never going to get this book published."
I click links on the screen at random. I'm trying to keep the distractions going. Trying not to listen.
"Clearly, this novel was a waste of time. How do you know, it’s even any good. Maybe it’s really bad and you’re just blind to it."
I'm not really reading the words on my computer screen. I'm just desperately pretending to.
"You're never going to break free of this cycle. You’re going to be unpublished for the rest of your life. You're useless!"
Alright. My hands drop from the key board and I stop kidding myself. Keeping busy isn’t working. Time to call in the big guns. I forward my rejection to everyone in my critque group asking for their opinion. Of course, I’m not really asking for their opinion. What I desperately need is a compliment or better yet, outrage. “How dare they reject your work! How dumb can they be!”
This is just a bump in the road right? That stooopid publisher just can't see how good I am, right? Cause I am good?.... aren't I? Maybe... Just a little.... For pete’s sake, give me something!
That's when my eyes start to fog a bit and I sit there resolutely blinking furiously.
I am not going to be pathetic.
I am not going to be pathetic.
I'm a business woman and if I had balls they’d be made of steel.
My boobs are solid rock anyway. Or maybe that’s just cause the baby is almost due for a feed. I get up and call my husband.
"I got rejected again!" I wail.
"Don't worry darling, someone else will take it?"
"What if no one does?"
"Don't worry, you'll write another."
Write another! My fingers are in my hair pulling at the roots. The baby is crying in the background. The washing machine has just stopped and expects to be unloaded. And suddenly I'm panicking. When! Damn it! It’s not like novels just pop out of me like toast. I have no time, I have no ...
Some of my thoughts must have come blurting out because my husband’s voice is louder. He’s clearly trying to be heard over the hysteria. "Look, I'll try to come home early tonight okay. It'll be alright. You just need to keep trying."
Keep trying.
I put the phone down, knowing he's right. I've been an unpublished serious writer for twelve years. I know the drill. You try and you try and you try and when you're done trying, you try some more. That’s solution. That’s the big kick arse solution to dealing with rejection. If only it had a little more kick and a little less arse, we’d all be better for it.
So I went back to my computer to read the commiserations freshly arriving from my fabulous critique group and felt slightly better.
I am a great writer.
On the 17th Jan, 2008, I got my second rejection for the tender romance novel I spent a year of my life writing. It also came via email and comprised of three polite sentences. Three polite sentences for a year’s work! Suffice it say, it didn’t go down too well.
I did what I always do when I get a rejection, I launched straight into damage control. You know, the whole fall off the bike, get back on, laugh through your tears, stand up in the face of oppression manoeuvre. Of course, that can be really hard especially when you’re subconscious insists on being counterproductive.
“Another rejection! Isn’t this telling you something. This book is a lost cause!”
Ignoring your subconscious, especially mine, involves keeping busy. I got up, made myself a hot cup of coffee and immediately began surfing the net for other publishers. I burnt my tongue on my too hot coffee as I absentmindedly tried to gulp it down. The pain momentary blocks the voices in my head. But not for long.
"What's the point? You are never going to get this book published."
I click links on the screen at random. I'm trying to keep the distractions going. Trying not to listen.
"Clearly, this novel was a waste of time. How do you know, it’s even any good. Maybe it’s really bad and you’re just blind to it."
I'm not really reading the words on my computer screen. I'm just desperately pretending to.
"You're never going to break free of this cycle. You’re going to be unpublished for the rest of your life. You're useless!"
Alright. My hands drop from the key board and I stop kidding myself. Keeping busy isn’t working. Time to call in the big guns. I forward my rejection to everyone in my critque group asking for their opinion. Of course, I’m not really asking for their opinion. What I desperately need is a compliment or better yet, outrage. “How dare they reject your work! How dumb can they be!”
This is just a bump in the road right? That stooopid publisher just can't see how good I am, right? Cause I am good?.... aren't I? Maybe... Just a little.... For pete’s sake, give me something!
That's when my eyes start to fog a bit and I sit there resolutely blinking furiously.
I am not going to be pathetic.
I am not going to be pathetic.
I'm a business woman and if I had balls they’d be made of steel.
My boobs are solid rock anyway. Or maybe that’s just cause the baby is almost due for a feed. I get up and call my husband.
"I got rejected again!" I wail.
"Don't worry darling, someone else will take it?"
"What if no one does?"
"Don't worry, you'll write another."
Write another! My fingers are in my hair pulling at the roots. The baby is crying in the background. The washing machine has just stopped and expects to be unloaded. And suddenly I'm panicking. When! Damn it! It’s not like novels just pop out of me like toast. I have no time, I have no ...
Some of my thoughts must have come blurting out because my husband’s voice is louder. He’s clearly trying to be heard over the hysteria. "Look, I'll try to come home early tonight okay. It'll be alright. You just need to keep trying."
Keep trying.
I put the phone down, knowing he's right. I've been an unpublished serious writer for twelve years. I know the drill. You try and you try and you try and when you're done trying, you try some more. That’s solution. That’s the big kick arse solution to dealing with rejection. If only it had a little more kick and a little less arse, we’d all be better for it.
So I went back to my computer to read the commiserations freshly arriving from my fabulous critique group and felt slightly better.
I am a great writer.
Loretta
