This post could also be called "what keeps you going when rejection is a constant response to your work?" Except that wouldn't be quite as catchy, right? A little dour, a little too on-the-nose for what most of us experience when we submit work. The no, after no, after no, after hell no, after "we like it, but it isn't the right fit," the "no, but send us the next piece."
It is, to put it lightly, exhausting.
The fun part of writing (new ideas, new characters) always gives way to the work of writing (completing the draft, then editing, then redoing the draft, ad nauseum).
After the "work" part of writing, you're still not finished. You have to "sell" your work to an editor for publication, or to an agent for representation. It doesn't matter if you're sending it to an interested agent, a free literary magazine, or a paying horror market, rejections will happen. Seasoned writers I know with tens, or even a hundred, published pieces still get rejected. Frequently.
If you're a big TikTok user, you might have seen clips of the 2006 movie "Stick It," floating around. It's one of those cheesy movies that never fails to make me laugh, and cheer, though I certainly have nothing in common with a group of girls striving for elite gymnastics medals.
Part of the reason for the enduring charm of the movie is the way Haley Graham (played by Missy Peregrym) delivers her lines. She draws you into their world as she rediscovers her love of it. In a sequence that shows her relearning how to do vault, bars, and floor routines, complete with shots of her failing over, and over, and over again, she tells the audience:
"Gymnastics tells you 'no' all day long. It mocks you over and over again, telling you that you're an idiot. That you're crazy... If you like falling, then gymnastics is the sport for you! You get to fall on your face, your ass, your back, your knees, and your pride!
Good thing I didn't like falling.
I *loved* it!"
If you replace gymnastics with writing, then maybe it's a healthier way to look at the process of seeking publication.
I am competitive. Which is surprising to some, given that I have less coordination than a drunk baby deer on ice. There are (many) toddlers who can hit a baseball with more accuracy than I can. I have a broken foot right now from tripping over the 1 inch lip of a dog gate in our house.
Oddly, I've never actually liked competing against other people. Debate wasn't for me- I get flustered giving speeches and thinking on my feet while doing so was not one of my strengths.
I loved Forensics. In theory, you're competing against other people for a medal.
You pick an event, you work on your piece, and then you go into a room where it's usually you, a judge, and (maybe a separate) timekeeper, and you perform. That's it. You often didn't see the faces of anyone you were competing against.
When there isn't a focused rival, there is only competition against yourself.
Sometimes you did well. You got a high score, moved onto finals, and ended up on a stage getting handed a medal. I have a box with a bunch of them in my house.
Sometimes you failed and ended up ranked at the bottom. Then you worked on your piece again before the next meet and tried again. A lesson I learned early on in Forensics was that I was going to fail, a lot. I didn't get a single medal my first year. I got one my second year. Three or four my fourth year. I wasn't expecting anything different in my final year.
Then something unexpected happened. A random poetry piece that my coach and I threw together at the last minute (we needed to fill the spot for someone who'd signed up for it and then flaked) netted me my first 1st place medal. The entire way back to school, I told myself it was a fluke and wouldn't happen again.
Then it happened again, over and over, the entire rest of the season. Despite the burning dumpster fire that was my life that year, one of the few bright spots was earning that box of medals.
When I want to give up, which happens about once a month or two, I remember that box of medals. Giving up would've been easy. I could've quit and focused on school or hanging out with my friends. But that competitive streak in me wouldn't let me do so.
Instead, I spent hours after school each day working with my coach on refining the piece. I studied every piece of feedback I got from the judges, accepting or discarding their criticism based on how valid it seemed.
If I had given up, I never would've earned that box of medals. It's the same with writing. If I give up because of the huge number of rejections I've received, then I'll never get to the point where I start getting acceptances.
Writing tells you "no" all the time. It tells you you're crazy, and that you'll fall on your ass. But if we want to succeed at it in any capacity, we can't merely like (well, hate) falling, you've got to love it. It's the only thing that gets you back up on your feet so you can try again. And maybe, just maybe, this next time is the time you'll stick it instead of falling.
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