For a writer, there is nothing as scary nor as exhilarating as sending off your manuscript. Well... maybe bobsledding.
But working on a novel for weeks, months, maybe years is a long, laborious process. If you do it right, you put pieces of your soul within that document. So, it's not easy to send your literary baby out into the world.
It's hard. If we leave our manuscript in our desk drawer or (perhaps more likely) in the databanks of our computer, then our story won't find readers. Our stories deserve readers. Our characters deserve an audience. We have to believe that if we want to write. And so... even though it may be difficult, we must send our words out into the universe.
Most of the time. It's not going to go how we want it to go. Although, maybe that's just me. I've been writing for decades -- which means I've dealt with rejection in many different forms. Here are the five different forms of rejection that I have met over the years.
1) Mr. Impersonal (AKA Mr. I-Don't-Even-Bother-Reading-Your-Shitty-Manuscript)
Sometimes rejection comes in the form of a form letter. Ah, yes, the impersonal rejection letter... the one that makes you wonder if the person at the other end even bothered to read it...
(This isn't one from my personal stash of them, by the way. In fact, I believe I threw all of mine away back in 2009 when I received my very first offer to publish a children's book. Now, I wish I'd kept them -- if only for the sake of this blog post. But the above letter is very much in the spirit of the dozens -- perhaps hundreds--I received.)
Nowadays, many writers are actually thrilled just to get a response no matter how impersonal. Why? Because a lot of agencies and publishing houses don't send them out anymore. When I started submitting work (back when I was 16 years old) it was all about postage stamps and self-addressed envelopes. If you wrote a story for a magazine, and you included proper postage you were practically guaranteed to get a response. So, even though the Mr. Impersonal response is disheartening -- at least it's a definitive answer. It's ways better than...
2) Mr. Ignore-U
Sometimes the most dissatisfying form of rejection is no response at all. In the age of unfriending and ghosting, this seems to be the most common style of saying NO to a manuscript. Saying nothing. If an agent or editor reads a query letter or a first chapter, and it's not her cup of tea, she simply moves onto the next email, continuing her search for literary gold.
By the way, as frustrating as this type of rejection may be, I completely understand the point of view of the gatekeeper. There is only so much time in the day to go through the slush pile. And then if you add in all of the time it takes to respond -- even if it's just a matter of attaching an impersonal response -- those minutes easily add up to hours wasted. If we extend the "searching for gold" metaphor, we wouldn't expect a prospector to spend his time crouched by the river, examining a rock and then taking five minutes to explain to the stone that he is pyrite instead of a gold nugget. That prospector is going to look for value, and if no value is found, he will toss that rock back into the stream.
Also, I think there is another reason why agents and editors choose not to respond. We in the age of instant messaging and back-and-forth tweets. Also, it's an age of online trolls and flame wars.
If an agent receives a picture book manuscript via email, reads the work, and thinks "This is definitely not good," and then she writes a polite rejection saying, "Thanks, but it's not for me..." then what happens next? Hopefully, in most cases, the writer thinks "Well, guess I better move on to the next person or the next project." But probably what happens a lot is that angry unprofessional writer sends a message right back, demanding to know: "WHY WON"T YOU PUBLISH ME?! WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME?!!" Restraining orders ensue.
Who can blame an agent for resorting to Mr. Ignore-U?
3) Mrs. Been-There-Done-That
This one doesn't sting so much. This is the type of rejection that happens when an editor reads your manuscript, thinks that you are a good writer (at least that's what they tell you), but that your story is too similar to something they already have in the works.
At this point in my career, I get this one a lot. And, if I'm going to get a rejection, this is one I like getting. Here's an example of this type of rejection (sent to my agent). It's from a couple years ago:
I appreciate the opportunity to consider Wade's work—he's a talented and funny storyteller! Ultimately, though, I'm afraid this project isn't the best fit for me. The meta element feels a bit too familiar, and I'm just not sure I have a clear vision for differentiating this story in the marketplace.
So, this was a rejection of a meta-fiction picture book about the Papa Bear from Goldilocks and the Three Bears freaking out when he realizes that he's being watched by the readers of the book.
Since I'm a bit of a narcissist, I like the fact that the editor boosted my ego by saying that I am "talented and funny." It's shallow, I know, but it actually makes me feel better if the rejection letter says a couple nice things before ultimately saying no. Also, the reason for the NO seems to be that there are already too many meta-fiction picture books (stories about storytelling) in the market; so this one might be a tough sell. I get that. (I also know that if they read something that they ABSOLUTELY LOVED they wouldn't care about the project being a "bit too familiar" -- but if you're going to let the writer down easy, this is a fine way to do it.)
The good news about this project, called Papa Bear's Page Fright, is that even though it was kindly turned down by twelve editors who all felt there was too much meta-fiction in the marketplace, the book was eventually accepted by Peter Pauper Press! Shameless plug: It will be released the April!!!
4) Ms. Oh-Hell-No
This is the type of rejection in which the editor/agent hates your work and doesn't sugar coat it. They don't send a form letter. They send back your manuscript with a red-inked rant in the margins. They tell the writer very clearly that there is no possible way that this will ever be published.
It doesn't happen very often (I hope), but when it does, it can be very jarring. And, for some writers, this kind of rejection can permanently cripple one's enthusiasm. Then again, how would we develop thick skin if not for the harsh critics of the world?
When I was eighteen years old, I worked on a project called Running Through the Apocalypse. It was about a teenager who finds out he's the Antichrist, but all he wants to be is a cartoonist. I wrote it as a screenplay first, and then adapted it into a novel, and when that didn't work I turned it into a stage play.
There was a literary contest at a local theater in Seattle, seeking new plays. So, I worked up the courage to polish my script and submit. Five winners would be selected for a staged reader, and one grand prize would be the mounting of a professional production. I did not win any of those prizes. However, whoever judged my play decided to mail back the script with their notes. They ripped it apart -- not just declaring that my jokes did not work, but they proclaimed that I was a closed-minded misogynist. (I don't believe I was -- but maybe I'm just too closed-minded to see it!) Needless to say, I was taken aback. I knew my script topic was controversial -- but I had no idea that someone would view the message as anti-feminist (mainly because of the lack of female characters)... or that they would write notes filled with disdain on every page. This freaked me out a bit, because I wanted to write something thought-provoking, not hate-provoking. After that rejection I was a bit gun shy at writing "serious" or "cutting edge" plays, and started playing it safe with the kinds of kid-friendly comedies I still write today.
5) Mr. Close-But-No-Cigar
This is the most tantalizing of rejections. This is one someone genuinely admires your work, and they aren't just paying lip service (as might happen with Mrs. Been There Done That). The rejection letter is ultimately a NO -- but you receive precious feedback explaining what works and what doesn't. Plus, you might also be given encouragement to submit something new.
Here's one of my Close-But-No-Cigar emails from ten years ago when I first started writing picture books:
Thank you for sending us Uncle Ant and allowing us to consider it for publication. There are many things about your story that I enjoyed. The description of where the ant's relatives work is very vivid. The dialogue between the ant and his mother is very funny, especially when she forgets his number.
Your writing style is smooth and enjoyable, and details like the spider web thread that Uncle Ant uses to tie up his leaf boat add texture to the imaginative world of the story.
Beginning at the moment that Uncle Ant meets the young ant, the story becomes a little heavy handed in terms of teaching a moral. I would recommend writing a new story without the intention of teaching a lesson. All stories have messages inherent in them. It would be more effective to focus on plot and the character.
We invite you to submit another story, and with your permission, I would like to hold on to this submission for reference should you choose to send us another manuscript.
As you can imagine, getting this email was thrilling. It made me want to write more. It made me feel like I might have a chance in the world of children's books -- and that meant the world to me.
These types of rejection letters told me to keep going. So I did.
