The Rejection Chronicles III: Yes and No

Posted by admin - 21/08/15 at 11:08 am

One thing is starting to become clear to me, if the writing process was a book, it would be far too depressing to read. It is, by necessity, a culling process. “Culling” in this instance means “a series of punches to the taint designed to discourage everyone.”

Last night I took the new book, “Goodbye Joinerville,” to a Writers Group and read the first ten pages. It killed. I got great feedback, and I was really encouraged by how much they liked it. It was a really good experience, in a situation where that’s certainly not always the case.

GoldenGod01Today, I get up feeling great. I am a Golden God!

And then I get a rejection notice from an agent who had requested the book.

I am no longer a golden god. I am now worthless vermin fit only for extinction. Back to work I go.

Which is really what I should be doing, of course. A book isn’t finished until it’s on a shelf somewhere, and last night I noticed a couple of things I should fix up. Still, rejection is a killer. It’s always frustrating to realize you’re not automatically universally loved and adored, and you didn’t get a return email full of praise and twenty-dollar bills.

How do I deal with it? Sarcasm. Steve Earle. And another episode of the Rejection Chronicles. Here’s another rejection letter I’ve received in the past, and what I actually took it to mean.

EMAIL: Thank you for your query. (Agent) asked me to reply after he evaluated your submission. We’re afraid your project does not seem right for our list, but thank you for thinking of (Agent), and best of luck in your search for representation.

What they meant: Thank you for sending us this vile refuse. My boss read it and threw himself out of a window, so I’m replying to you in hopes you stop before you injure anyone else.

We’re afraid your project doesn’t seem right for humans. Thank you for thinking of us, please stop thinking of us. Or thinking in general. Best of luck in your search for representation, or meaning in life.

— Reid Kerr found that listening to “The Revolution Starts Now” as loud as possible helps with the healing process.

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