I’m telling you something here that it took me years to figure out for myself.
We ALL (almost without exception) get started in the writing business thinking it will be easy. Why? Because good writers make it look easy. Because they’ve mastered the craft for just that reason. So 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 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 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 gets turned down by a hundred agents, that’s not much use to you. They just wasted a lot of your time.
The best you can say of most literary rejection is that it’s not personal. It hurts, sure, but not like being snubbed by someone you thought was your friend. (But wait, you can get that personal kick too—after you publish and these people don’t like your book. They’re the ones who say “I can’t wait to read it!” and then say nothing else after that. Ouch.) (Can’t you think of a single thing to say you liked about it??)
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 123 of them (and more to come!) For rejections of short fiction, there are 49 rejections and 52 still on submission (of which at least 95% will be rejections – if not 100%!)
How do I feel about these?
Crazily enough, and I’m not sugar-coating anything, the answer is that I feel proud.
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 more of 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.
I can’t tell now how much they’ll hurt, not exactly. All I know for sure is that I’ll lick my wounds and get back up to fight through writing the next story.