The art of digesting rejection

As all creatives find out, sooner rather than later, rejection is part of the fabric of life. Of course, that is true for everyone sometimes: rejection of an invitation to dinner, a proposal of marriage, a coveted job. But in the arts, rejections drop upon one, not as a gentle rain, but more like a fist to the gut.

Having completed a mystery novel for which I am ‘seeking representation’, i.e. for a literary agent to take me on, in former times I could have papered a room with rejection slips. These days, they would have clogged up my iCloud storage if I hadn’t erased them, while keeping note on an Excel sheet so that I do not apply to the same agency or publisher twice.

Of course, one has to feel for the agents. They only get paid if they can sell your book, so even if they love it, they cannot take you on unless they can. And that depends on a lot of factors: their contacts in the publishing world, the market at that particular moment, the zeitgeist, etc, etc. Also, the slush pile has become unmanageable since the advent of ‘copy-paste.’ People used to write in longhand, then on a typewriter, keeping copies using carbon paper, making corrections with Typex and having to rewrite whole passages. Now corrections and alterations to the text take seconds. A lot more people are finishing their novels as a result.

Many more are self-publishing. Too many. It is easy to take the plunge before your work is ‘as good as it could be’. The thought did cross my mind, of course—but I am happy I did not go down that route at once, because I have received valuable feedback from a couple of lovely agents, which has improved the book no end. I would have ‘pushed the button’ too soon—before the book was polished enough.

Also what is stopping me is that if you self-publish, you’ve got to sell the book yourself—and there is nothing that appeals to me less. I’d rather be writing, painting, cooking or even mucking out stables than doing blog tours or begging people to buy my masterpiece. Or, horrors, making videos on Tik Tok (which is how many books find readers nowadays). However, I might not have the choice in the end, if I want to see said masterpiece in print, so perhaps I shall bite the bullet one of these days, and see what happens…

Also, indie authors get the most of the (potential) profits themselves, instead of giving half to the agency. However, they first need to shell out for edits, a professional cover design, formatting etc.

Meanwhile, what annoys me more than a rejection is being ghosted. Some agents promise to reply but never do so, others warn you that no answer after a specified amount of time means it’s a pass. Fine—athough how hard would it be to have a polite rejection form ready and just add the name? An agent complained recently on X that some people reply rudely if they get a rejection, so now she does not bother to answer—but surely that is but a part of the job? A rejection, though painful, is some kind of closure; it allows you to move on from that particular slot.

But what gets my goat most is when your writing is praised and you get asked for the whole manuscript, which you send off with all fingers and toes crossed, and a glimmer of hope (or anticipation). Then, nothing. That is just plain bad manners. That is why I am so grateful to the lovely agents who spent time offering detailed advice.

As with everything else, writing takes grit. Rewrite, revise, edit, kill your darlings, read widely, try new things. I have had some short stories published, and that gives me courage that my writing is not hopeless. Onwards.

And I take heart from reading famous rejections, of writers I could never try to emulate. I bet those agents or publishers had a few regrets (such as the one who rejected the Harry Potter books…) Here are some good ones:

“You’d have a decent book if you’d get rid of that Gatsby Character.” – to F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

 “Stick to teaching.” – to Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

“We are not interested in science fiction which deals with negative utopias. They do not sell.” -to Stephen King, Carrie

“I rack my brains why a chap should need thirty pages to describe how he turns over in bed before going to sleep.” – to Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past

“I haven’t the foggiest idea about what the man is trying to say. Apparently the author intends it to be funny.” – about Joseph Heller, Catch-22

And the best of them all:

“Our united opinion is entirely against the book. It is very long, and rather old-fashioned… First, we must ask, does it have to be a whale? While this is a rather delightful, if somewhat esoteric, plot device, we recommend an antagonist with a more popular visage among the younger readers. For instance, could not the Captain be struggling with a depravity towards young, perhaps voluptuous, maidens?” – to Hermann Melville, Moby Dick

Priceless.