The Rejection Burn
Unfortunately, your story was not the right fit/we decided not to punish it/it’s not what we’re looking for right now.
It’s Wednesday morning. There are two spoonfuls left of peach dairy-free yogurt, the spoon resting in the container in front of a handmade coffee mug of steaming medium roast coffee. I finished wordle (in 4) and my daughter sits with my husband on the sofa watching him do wordle on his laptop, toys scattered across the floor in front of them. I remember I haven’t checked my email yet. I open the app, and in pops an email from a lit mag I submitted a story to several months ago. The weight I now feel in my gut is pavlovian.
As I open it, my eyes zoom in on the saddest word known to writer kind: “unfortunately.” Unfortunately, your story was not the right fit/we decided not to punish it/it’s not what we’re looking for right now. They’re meant to be soft blows and comforting words. My inner critic fills in the rest: “They hated it/it’s not good enough/you’re not good enough/you’ll never publish anything/you should stop trying already/you’re too old/you’re just embarrassing yourself.”
“Another rejection,” I tell my husband.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” he replies, looking up from his laptop. He always says that, and it stings a little. I want him to say something else, like, “I can’t believe I forgot to mention it before in all the years we’ve known each other and built a family together, but I’m actually the managing editor at Super Fancy and Exclusive Lit Mag, and we want to publish all your stories.” He never says that, though.
The worst part, perhaps, is that I like my stories. I wonder, inner critic poking me in the back, at what point to do I give up and publish them on my substack or website? I think, perhaps, I should publish one of them. “What if,” says another internal voice. I’m not sure what to call this one. “What if you publish something that some lit mag you haven’t submitted to yet would love to publish? You’ve gotten some personal rejections. Someone’s going to bite.”
I scour the internet to see what others have said about rejection. Chill Subs makes a game of it, Rejection Bingo. I’ve seen people specifically make “rejection goals” for themselves, such as 100 rejections a year.
I counted mine. I’ve had 15. Perhaps I’ll make that goal of 100. I have four pieces on submission right now, including one flash piece I wrote specifically for a themed issue. It feels akin to buying lottery tickets.
Getting rejected from literary magazines is a lonely hobby. It’s just you, your inbox, and the aloof form emails, littered with cutting words like “unfortunately” and “sorry” and “no.”
If you’ve stumbled on this newsletter searching for advice on how to give the rejections less of a sting, here are a few:
1. Buy yourself a bag of your favorite candy. Every time you get a rejection, eat a piece.
2. Find a rejection buddy and compete to see who can get the most rejections.
3. Every time you get a rejection, donate $5 to a charity that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
4. Send your rejection emails through a fun translator, like this pirate one. Here’s a recent one of mine:
Ahoy!
Dear Alli,
Thank ye fer sendin' us [your word baby]. While we be grateful t' have had th' opportunity t' read yer work, we're sorry t' say it isn't a good fit fer us at this time. Our submissions queue continues t' grow, and we often have t' decline many excellent pieces, I'll warrant ye. Thanks again fer trustin' us with yer work, pass the grog! Best o' luck with this piece and all o' yer writin'.
Sincerely,
th' Editors
See? Much better! Yarr.
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Very good! We all know the feeling. "Unfortunately, your xxx was not the right fit" - give me a dollar for everyone of those. I've become much better about it after reading an article that recommended going for 100 rejections. And remember that 'Zen And The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' author Robert Pirsig was rejected by 121 publishing houses and the book has gone on to be a modern classic. So just keep doing what you're doing as best you can and don't let it get you down.