Celebrating Rejection

A Rejection Letter of My Very Own

It seems there’s a theme going on right now at 2 Rules of Writing. Adam wrote about rejection letters last week. Erik Cheung also wrote about rejection letters last week. And now it’s my turn. 

Last week I got a rejection letter. I was expecting it, although strangely enough, the reason I say that I was expecting it isn’t because of my own lack of confidence or the incredible case of imposter syndrome that I am working to overcome. I was expecting it because the program I was applying for, in all honesty, really was a tremendous reach for me considering where my skills as a writer are at. With over 250 applications for 8 spots, I’m not surprised at all that I wasn’t selected. 

That doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed. I shed a few tears because of course it would have been a nice surprise to have gotten an acceptance. But I wasn’t totally heartbroken or anything over the rejection. In fact, I am rejoicing over it.

The Letter was a Milestone worth Celebrating

I’ve been told that the first rejection is a milestone for any writer. In fact, when I called Adam to tell him about it, that was one of the first things he said; that it wasn’t the first acceptance that mattered (that came before this, ironically), it was the first rejection. Now that I have that, he reminded me again that I am really losing credibility as far as my “not a real writer” argument goes. I can’t argue too much with that—I know I’ve been losing ground on that argument for months—that doesn’t mean the feeling is going away, just that there are fewer and fewer facts to support the feeling.

I’m celebrating because the fact that I even applied for this program meant I had to acknowledge that, even though I have a lot of growing to do as a writer, I’ve got something going-–whether it’s talent, many pages of practice, or sheer luck, I’ve been able to write some things that have affected people. I’ve been able to write things that matter—things that matter to someone who isn’t me. In order to be able to even apply for something like this I had to be able to put aside all of the self-criticism for a moment. 

Preparing the Submission… Waiting on the Feedback

People I would look to for moral support say I’m too self-critical. And it’s true that, while waiting for the news, I fell into being overly self-critical to prepare for likely rejection. I have spent a lot of time criticizing my own writing, focusing on every flaw, every weakness, and thinking about all of the things I don’t do well. It’s easier, more comfortable to talk about that than to think about the things I might actually do well. In order to take this chance and apply for this opportunity, I had to accept, just for a brief second, that I might actually be able to do something here. Believing in yourself can be a really big challenge for some people, and believing in yourself enough to take a chance is usually beyond me. 

In retrospect, it is a shock to me that, when I first saw the advertisement for this workshop, the first thing I felt wasn’t self-doubt. The first thought was more like: “That’s a really interesting opportunity.” I copied the link, pasted it into a Facebook message and sent it to Adam. In some ways I was asking for permission—was I ready to apply for something like that? In some ways I was asking for support—I knew that if I was going to apply, there was no way that I’d send off the application without a lot of support from Adam, both moral and editorial. I could hear the excitement in his typed response: “We’re doing this.” I laughed, and replied, “We?”^*

His endorsement of my application was a real boost. From the start, it came with very honest conversations about how unlikely it was that I’d be accepted. Something has changed though, and that doesn’t feel like a judgment on my character or my humanity. It’s a statement on my skill in this moment–skills which I’m constantly taking steps to improve. 

It’s Never Just the One Thing

So I wrote up the application. We went back and forth and back and forth with it. And at the same time I was writing that application, I was busy building the 2 Rules of Writing website. Adam, rather than being in New York, was in England while I was doing a lot of this, so instead of our usual daily Facebook chat punctuated by regular phone calls, we were trying to coordinate things across a five hour time difference with Facebook messenger and What’sApp. But the application got done. 

On the night I finally clicked the send button, I cried a little. Everything was out of my hands. I felt relieved that the application was done. I felt anxious about rejection–would they just throw it out right away, declaring my application not even really worth their time to review? And I felt very, very exposed; my writing goes into some very personal, very intense places, and this was potentially a much larger audience than I’d ever considered before. 

I kept busy. Two weeks after I sent off the application, we launched 2 Rules of Writing, which gave me something to focus on. I heard from Lilith Magazine about the microstory I submitted. The original notification deadline for the application was in mid-December, and I spent the appointed day refreshing my email, expecting a “no” but hoping for a “yes.” I was simultaneously crushed and hopeful when the email finally arrived and said: “We need another month. We’ll let you know in January.”

Waiting Another Month to Hear Back

Another month? You’re kidding, right? How can I handle another month of waiting? I’m still battling writer’s block, so I can’t even really distract myself with other projects. I have to… wait. It’s out of my hands. I keep trying to write–trying to break through the writer’s block, doing things that might help me become a stronger writer. Mid-January finally arrives. I spent another day refreshing my email, looking for the rejection, but nothing came. Not a “not yet” or a “no,” and not even a “we’re still trying to make a decision,” email. I was hugely disappointed. It wasn’t because I assumed that no news meant the answer was “no,” but because I just wanted to see the answer in writing. 

And that brings us to last Monday. I am starting to make some cracks in the writer’s block that’s been plaguing me since October. I was finishing up the piece about what it’s like to spend so much time writing about trauma. And I was starting to feel okay about writing. Overall, I’m still struggling with my own words a little bit. But on that day, the words were happening, without being forced, and for months that’s been rare. In the evening, my email alert dings, and there was my answer. It was the rejection I anticipated… sort of. 

I wasn’t accepted into the writing workshop I’d applied for, but it wasn’t a complete “no.” They offered a spot in a trauma-specific writing workshop. They asked for pitches for future stories.

Adam and I had already finished editing the trauma piece, and published it. And even though it was late at night, I called him to tell him the news. I didn’t feel right explaining everything in Facebook messages. I needed to say thank you for all the moral support. I needed a little reassurance.

Even in that disappointment, how is it possible to not recognize some things that still seemed implausible? Someone else (not a friend, a mentor or an acquaintance) read my stuff. Read it and liked it and believed in my voice. Someone else is expressing belief in me as a writer. 

A writer. 

I’ve been uncomfortable with the label “writer” for so long. I feel like a real writer has a voice. A unique voice. I’m still uncertain about trusting my own. And yet over the last year, more and more things have happened where other people have read my stuff, and after they’ve read it they’ve believed it had value. They’ve shared it with other people. People liked what I had to say. Sometimes they even wanted more. 

Celebrating this Rejection

I’m celebrating this rejection. I’m celebrating it because I didn’t look at the application and immediately dismiss it. I looked at it and said “I’m interested in this.” And then I asked for help. For the first time, I looked at a writing opportunity, thought about my own writing, and thought I might have something to offer. I got the first rejection over with, and I don’t feel defeated. I feel empowered. After struggling to capture my love of writing again—after someone crushed everything about it and turned writing from something I love to something traumatic—I’ve begun to see what’s on the other side. 

That confidence thing? Mine is still shaky. I’m moving towards a place where I can start to believe in myself as a writer. It’s coming, slowly. I’m learning to trust the idea that I’ll get there, eventually. 

Celebrating the Self-Confidence to Apply

I’m celebrating this rejection anyway. I had enough confidence to take a chance and I couldn’t have taken that chance without the support of my writing community who have shared their stories about rejection and about acceptance. That writing community has said to me, “You can do this. It might take some time, you have things to learn, but you can do this.” I got this rejection and I didn’t feel like I wanted to give up. I’m not comfortable with that feeling. I’m comfortable with either feeling far too scared of rejection to try, or with hearing the rejection and giving up on whatever the project is.

This time, I got a rejection and I looked at it and wondered about submitting more things to other places. I wondered about what I would need to do to create pieces that would be interesting to editors and other readers. I even have a couple of tabs bookmarked with places that are open for submissions. I’ve begun trying to learn how to write a pitch for a story. I’ve been able to look at this as another step in the process of becoming the writer I want to be. 

Celebrating… and Moving Forward

This rejection has given me a sense that there’s a place for my voice out there. There’s a purpose to my story telling. I can still look at the whole spectrum of writers out there, and think of the people whose writing I love, the people whose writing I admire, and wonder where my voice fits in. My questions about where my voice fits in have changed. My stories may be unique, but now I’m seeking answers about what it is that I do when I’m telling the stories that makes people want to read them. I’m letting go of the idea that people don’t want to read my stories or that they’re not worth telling. That means peeling away decades of “why are you telling us this,” or “what’s your point.”

I survived my first rejection. If I keep working, if I keep submitting more things, I’m sure there will be many more, sprinkled with a few acceptances, I hope. There’s a sense of myself as a writer that is beginning to emerge, a picture of the things I’m good at writing about. Beyond that, I’m getting a sense of what my skills are at talking about those things in ways that are accessible to other people. I’ve taken some time to sit with the rejection, but I’m beginning to believe that it’s time to start learning how to pitch stories and to begin taking more chances. I’m beginning to have faith in myself that I didn’t have before.  And that is worth celebrating.

*The contest was open to Jewish Women over 40. At last count, Adam is… 1 of those things.

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