A woman writes in 1901
This is not the rejection you thought it was, it’s a different rejection of rejection. I’m pretty sure Yoda said that at one point.
So, this morning, I’m sitting in my haven of a backyard, the weather is nice and cool, cloud cover with active squirrels whooping it up, rummaging through the trees along my fence line.
I go through my normal morning moves: coffee, jazz, journal, and then check the email. I’ve subscribed to several informative ‘writer’ blogs and such over the years, and this morning as I read through one such one, an interesting article caught my eye, “Levels of rejection and what they mean.”
Of course, my gut reaction: What the fuck?! You mean there are different levels of rejection to feel bad about other than just the normal rejection that’s eating me up on the insides?!
A glutton; of course I read on.
Since my blog is heavy on the daily ins and outs of the writer’s life; you know, the accolades and the challenges I face as a writer. It only seems apropos I talk about one of the stranger elements of this process. The rejection. I have willingly chosen to follow a career path that leads, more often times than not, to rejection. I wanted to talk about that today, but not just the normal run of the mill rejection, but rejection from a literary agent.
The dream of finding a real live literary agent to gush about has been swirling for a few years now. I dream of the day I’m able to gush wildly across my personal inter web spaces, “I have an agent! I have a downright, honest to God, Literary Agent!”
Hercules beating the Centaur Nesso
There have been several folks in my past who have watched me fall off my damned horse, dust off my chaps and jump right back on. Those folks who have watched my falls time and time and time again are left wheezing and wincing and shaking their heads and asking in whispers, why does she keep doing it?
Those falls are a culmination of different events, auditioning for plays, trying to get into college, trying to be a writer, submitting my writing for submission, and most recently submitting to obtain representation.
Rejection. It’s good for the soul.
I started out at an early age placing myself in wondrous situations in which hope reigned free all the while rejection lingered blackly on the horizon.
I have a background in theater, choir and writing. Which means I spent an awful lot of time being rejected for plays, solos, and by literary magazines, etc. It’s a bit more rejection than some, not as much as others.
Once again, I’ve opened my world up to rejection this year, with about 1-3 submissions a day, be it to an agent or literary magazine, there is a lot of rejection spilling onto my shoulders yet again. And this isn’t a woe is me moment. Look, I get it. On a daily basis I choose this because it’s part of the process. I want a traditional publishing house, so this is the road I must take. There are different ways to get published, but for now this is what I’m trying.
It’s not all horrible, there have been some acceptance among the rejection as well and a lot of moving forward. And over the years I’ve built up a modicum of callused skin on the subject of rejection. Sure, there are days when it still stings. I’m human, of course it’s going to hurt.