Name: Tess
Home: St. Louis
"Thank you for thinking of us."
In the past week and a half, I've been rejected three times: twice for a short story, and once for a set of poems. I don't know whether to be heartened or discouraged.
Anyone who submits stories and poems to magazines knows that rejection is a part (sometimes a very, very large part) of attempting to get published. Last month, at a reading, I heard Richard Newman, the editor of River Styx, say he receives more publishable work than he can put in his magazine. The title of his talk was "Last Ones Standing: The Resilience of Successful Writers." He discussed having his first book of poems published at age 40 after many years of rejection. A very few writers seem to have initial success followed only by more success, but most of us must learn to deal with rejection.
So why was I encouraged by my rejections? Well, the worst kind of rejection is the printed slip. It generally says something like, "Dear Author, Thank you for sending us your work. We regret that we will not be publishing it in our magazine." Those are discouraging; often, they're tiny, as if the magazine doesn't want to waste more than a scrap of paper on you. But my three rejections, though they were all printed slips, were personalized. On one, someone had written, "Thank you for thinking of us." Another said "thank you." And the third said, "Thanks for trying us."
In general, a personalized note, however brief, is considered a promising sign. Editors are already drowning in submissions; if they see fit to encourage you, it means that they like what you've written even though they won't be publishing it. A personalized note means you're getting closer.
Part of me looks at what I've written above and thinks, This is a crazy, crazy business. The success rate is awful. When I was teaching high school, if only a handful of my students had passed English, I would have quit and tried a different profession. If my mail carrier delivered only a few letters and lost the rest, he would surely be fired.
But though there are days I wish I had gone to law school (so I could have a real, grown-up job
and maybe make some money), right now I'm doing what I want to do. I'm trying to own my choice, craziness and all.
Anyone who submits stories and poems to magazines knows that rejection is a part (sometimes a very, very large part) of attempting to get published. Last month, at a reading, I heard Richard Newman, the editor of River Styx, say he receives more publishable work than he can put in his magazine. The title of his talk was "Last Ones Standing: The Resilience of Successful Writers." He discussed having his first book of poems published at age 40 after many years of rejection. A very few writers seem to have initial success followed only by more success, but most of us must learn to deal with rejection.
So why was I encouraged by my rejections? Well, the worst kind of rejection is the printed slip. It generally says something like, "Dear Author, Thank you for sending us your work. We regret that we will not be publishing it in our magazine." Those are discouraging; often, they're tiny, as if the magazine doesn't want to waste more than a scrap of paper on you. But my three rejections, though they were all printed slips, were personalized. On one, someone had written, "Thank you for thinking of us." Another said "thank you." And the third said, "Thanks for trying us."
In general, a personalized note, however brief, is considered a promising sign. Editors are already drowning in submissions; if they see fit to encourage you, it means that they like what you've written even though they won't be publishing it. A personalized note means you're getting closer.
Part of me looks at what I've written above and thinks, This is a crazy, crazy business. The success rate is awful. When I was teaching high school, if only a handful of my students had passed English, I would have quit and tried a different profession. If my mail carrier delivered only a few letters and lost the rest, he would surely be fired.
But though there are days I wish I had gone to law school (so I could have a real, grown-up job
and maybe make some money), right now I'm doing what I want to do. I'm trying to own my choice, craziness and all.
posted by Tess | 8:00 AM
3 Comments:
The closest I got before I was wrapped up in babyness was a rejection letter that mentioned two hartening things: the first was that my submission was passed along to a group of test readers for further consideration (when it was ultimately rejected), and that my writing style was good but my choice of subject matter was too ordinary. This (unfinished) book was a western romance, so I can understand how the subject matter was too overused and trite. Who wants to read yet another forced-into-marriage cowboy romance? So yeah, I was upset about the rejection, but it was the best sort! It essentially told me to keep trying, which was encouraging, but then... preggers. Twice. Tired. Distracted. But that won't last forever... (or so I tell myself).
So yeah, take what encouragement you can from rejections. Anything other than a form letter is a GOOD thing!
I don't think comparing other professions (such as teaching and mail carrying or others) to creative work is the same.
As a writer, artist, musician, there is not an automatic in (as you well know.) It's so subjective and it's necessary to wait and hope that someone's opinion is (finally!) that the work you so lovingly give birth to is prinatable, showable, playable.
I love that you recognize and own (crazy, though you say it is or not) that the personalization of those "no" notes was encouragement.
I don't look forward to going back to the submitting and subsequent rejection of working on becoming published. In some ways, as hard as it is, nursing school is easier than that.
Hh
Good luck to both of you with your future publishing ventures!
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