Previously Published in TWUC (The
Writers' Union of Canada)
Newsletter
Rejection stings like hell. When we were kids, it was a matter of life and
death to be liked – by family, teachers and friends — but we quickly found
out that the world could be cruel and scrambled for ways to toughen our hides.
Some kids armoured themselves with indifference and became as conventional
as they possibly could, while others (like you?) pulled out a pen and invented
other selves, other worlds, in which to escape instead.
Writers struggle with subtle forms of rejection almost every day. There's
that feeling of creeping invisibility when we've been too long between books
and fear being passed over for younger, sexier writers, demographically more
appealing, with hip, intergendered stories offering multi-choice endings and
optional soundtracks. And there's that gauntlet of authors' festivals, book
launches and fundraisers — all of them snub-fests. We brace ourselves to attend
them but we'd die if we weren't invited.
In addition, a writer's life is juried. Grants, book prizes, story contests,
festival invitations are frequently decided by a roomful of our peers. How
yikes! is that. More challenging still is to be on a jury, paid an honorarium
to read mountains of words, appraise, dismiss and defend, bestow cash and fame
on a lucky few colleagues. Yet, it tastes so sweet to be asked.
A writer's rejection phobia positively spikes when a new manuscript goes
the rounds. Perhaps an agent or two has already rejected your request to be
represented in the champs de combat. You, in manuscript form, must now approach
the publishers — and hey, you'd best be doing that, one by one, they all insist.
Better bad news than no news at all, but nothing quite triggers the dejection
of rejection like a day of unreturned phone calls. You must wait patiently
to take it on the chin from each publisher in turn until, oh happy day, you
score a smooch instead.
But that's only starters. If published, part two begins. Critics, readers,
discerning colleagues and your hawk-eyed family thumb through your psyche—
in book form now — and no matter how thickly teflon-coated you are, every negative
comment sticks and burns.
Yes, rejection comes with the job and you have to learn to deal with it.
One way is to collect encouraging nuggets of supportive self-talk to get you
through the dark times and keep that inner critic at bay.
Now, there's good self-talk and bad. The bad kind is Sour Grapes: you reject
the rejecters, quit before you're fired, pretend you didn't need the glowing
review, the Giller Prize shortlisting, teaching gig, C.C. grant, etc. that
you didn't get anyway.
Sour Grapes gives off a bad smell and is never in your best interests. You
might find yourself talking to someone who could put your name forward, blurb
your next book or review it for the Globe. Face it, nobody's exactly charmed
by negativity.
However, you can minimize the damage to your psyche if you grab the negative
feedback and dig out the useful bits. Remind yourself of a basic fact: you
could commit 110% to your writing, submit your work everywhere and still not
land a prize or a publisher, but if you don't put out 110% you don't stand
a chance. Better to try than not to try, you tell yourself.
Until one day, perhaps, depression hits you. And depression can cleverly
disguise itself as Pure Reason. Proof abounds that the world is largely indifferent
to art, right? Only the obvious stuff seems to draw readers today, so why strive
for excellence? Let's cast blame at the usual suspects – the Conservatives,
the economy, declining literacy, an ailing publishing industry – because they
are all, in fact, blameworthy.
That said, there's no question that when you experience rejection – by an
editor, critic or grant jury — you'll tend to take it personally and feel that
sting. How much more logical it would be to give up than to take the hit and
move on.
But underneath that depression can lurk a harsh inner voice, sometimes sounding
like a disappointed parent, an agent from hell or a critic who voices your
worst fears about yourself. This voice can eat its way through every cheery
self-affirmation you throw at it, unless you tackle it directly and neutralize
it, perhaps with a session or two of therapy.
Meanwhile, here's one way you can support yourself psychically as you ride
out the boom/bust cycle of writing and publishing: cultivate a group of peers
— people whom you respect and who respect you in turn. Look for people who
reject the culture of cynicism and are willing to risk themselves, over and
over again. Peers with generous hearts towards you and themselves. They'll
light you through those dark nights of the soul and give you feedback you can
trust when you ask — and only when you ask — for it.
Evaluate the folks you're hanging out with now. If they don't fit this description
then run, don't walk, until you find others who do.
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