I Reject Your Rejection (and substitute a smiley face) :)

Most of you are aware that my first foray into Query-Land began a number of months ago. I knew it would be slow going for an untried author, despite the completed/edited manuscript (thank you, Zootie!) and stellar query letter (thank you, C.J. Redwine!). As I've been keeping up with my goal of active queries and responses have been trickling in, I've had the opportunity to compare notes with my RWA guildmates and make a few valuable observations...

I've also recently recalled something I'd repressed for years: This isn't my first round with literary rejection.

When I was 13, I was coming off the high of having finished my first book. It was written by hand using 3 spiral bound notebooks, edited by the cutest boy in the entire 6th grade (Yes, I paid him. It was probably the only way I could get him to talk to me in the first place), and carried the title of: Island Of The White Rhinos. (Or something equally embarrassing like that.) And no, that manuscript will never again see the light of day. Not even for a good laugh.

Anyway...

Having realized I could actually complete something, my ambitious little self came across an article on how to get one's work published. Deciding I should start small, I pulled out a poem I was very proud of and polished it up. I then compiled a list of magazines and non-profit organizations that could potentially make use of my piece, and sent them all letters explaining who I was and offering to let them use my poem for free. It was, after all, aimed at a heartfelt good cause.

I did include my age in the introductory letter--not so much because I thought anyone would be impressed by my prodigy-like efforts, but because I hoped it would garner me a little patience... Possibly even a dash of humoring inspired by pity.

If memory serves (which, it obviously didn't until the flashbacks started) I sent out 11 letters with my poem, and received back 7 replies. All of them rejections. Kindly worded no-thank-yous, to be sure, but rejections all the same.

Let's just say that my dermal and intestinal fortitude were both adversely affected.

After all, if nobody was interested in my work when I was giving it away, they'd certainly never pay me to produce more of it. And thus, my 13-year-old self decided to euthanize a budding dream. Four years later that dream would be resurrected into a zombie-like (yet operational) state by a well-meaning Creative Writing professor...but that's getting into a story for a different post.

The point is, I've blazed this trail before. And I'm now much older, wiser, better equipped, and (as my husband will gladly attest) irrevocably bull-headed. There will be no throwing in the self-esteem towel this time around. I can now rebuff the notion that a query rejection is somehow a rejection of me as a human being. (Although, the bolstering encouragement from cohorts and loved one's is still welcome. ^_^)


I've also realized that there seem to be six levels of response an author can expect when sending out one's query. And here they are, just for fun--in order of desirability:

*The full manuscript request. (This doesn't mean you're in, but it means they're legitimately interested. Go ahead and *squeeee!*)

* The partial request. (This is interest, but tentative. Polish those first 3 chapters until they shine. Discreet high-fives may be in order.)

*The personalized rejection (Not only is it addressed to you instead of 'dear author', but they've taken the time to give you some idea of why the project isn't right for them. Cherish every word.)

*The form rejection. (Cut. Paste. Repeat. Hey, at least that means they spelled your name right.)

*The lazy form rejection. (From some underpaid secretary: Dear Author...whatever your name is.)

*The 'no response means no.' (A trend that is becoming increasingly common. If you find this a touch disrespectful, you'll want to read all of an agent/editor's submission guidelines carefully--they typically post a disclaimer about their response policy.)


Now, if you're feeling brave, I'd love to hear about YOUR experience with rejection and how it's shaped you. :)

Rejection I Can Appreciate

So far I'd been trying to use this blog to be helpful to other aspiring writers. Right now, I just want to be real with you. (Fear not--I have no intention of emotionally upchucking all over your house slippers.)

I just wanted to confess that I've just received my fifth rejection from an agent, and I've got some mixed feelings about it. (Yes, I know that five rejections is nothing, and I can easily expect a dozen more before the planets align and/or Snooki's book finally runs its course.) I'm not reflecting so much on the rejection as I am on the -type- of rejection it happens to be. You see, this is the first non-form rejection I've received.

Aha! My angsty dark cloud has a silver lining.

That's right, while it still stung like being the last kid picked for Dodgeball, this letter was -personalized-! No generic 'Dear Author'... my actual name was at the top of that tiny paragraph. No cut-and-paste standard reply about how the agent gets so many queries every day they can't possibly give me a hint as to why my project (regrettably, of course) doesn't interest them... this one gave me an explanation. And here it is, short and sweet:

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'Unfortunately I'm going to pass on this idea. The manuscript is quite long, and it's quite hard to sell memoirs from authors with small platforms.

Sorry about all this. The idea itself seemed interesting and interestingly enough mirrors a fiction project that I'm planning on taking on.'

Best,

--------------

Now that I've gotten some potentially useful feedback on my attempt, I have to decide what to do with it--if anything. (This was only the query, by the way. This particular agent didn't want writing samples included.)

*Can I cut down the manuscript notably?

Maybe a few thousand words could still be trimmed without the book losing its essence, but I'm not sure what count to shoot for (as there is no average word count for this genre.)

*Can I magically pull a 'platform' out of subspace by becoming famous overnight?

Unlikely. (Call me, Snooki! I'd like to audition to become your arch nemesis. >.>)

*Can I completely rework the book into a fiction piece and still live with myself?

Ask me again after another two-dozen dismissals.

Okay, so I suppose I don't have much by way of conclusive information just yet. At least it's a start. Seeing any of this echoed by a different agent will certainly make me sit up and reassess my approach to the query gauntlet.

In the mean time, the name of the game is 'persistence.' If Kathryn Stockett (author of 'The Help') had to face down 60 rejection letters before finding an advocate for her story, then I figure I've got 55 more to go before I'm entitled to mourn my lack of marketability. (I may do a bit of whining at every interval of 10 or so, but I'll try to keep it to myself as much as humanly possible.)

So, has anyone learned things from rejection letters? And if you happen to have some experience with them, tell me what you make of mine. :) I'm wide open to interpretations/suggestions.

The Writer's Mascot

I don't take rejection very well. Considering my high school experience, I like to think that I'm used to it. But, as with most human beings, I'm the emotional equivalent of a 'bleeder'. It may have a great deal to do with why I talked myself out of being a writer for so many years. It's one thing to stumble upon rejection as you navigate the quagmires of life. It's quite another to place yourself in situations where it's a statistically likely result.

Six months ago I got serious about the business, and subsequently heard the the same advice over and over: Grow a thick skin. As I already knew, even the greats have been rejected at one time or another. Rejection isn't (usually)personal in this business. I was instructed to glean what I could from criticism and insulate myself from the blows to self-worth. I decided that a proper representation of the dermal depth I was going for would be the noble Walrus.(There are worse mascots out there.) And so I would pray from time to time, "God, give me the skin of a Walrus."

I quickly realized that in order to juggle my primary responsibilities in life with the development of this far-fetched dream, I was going to need to be stronger. Strong enough to change diapers and wrangle kids all day, while utilizing every free moment to write. Being a nerd, I recalled that ants are the strongest creatures in proportion to their size; and certainly the most disciplined. I thought, why have just one mascot? I claimed the miniscule-yet-mighty ant as my patron insect. "God, give me the strength of an Ant."

Then, after months of grinding away at my book and walking painfully back through everything I'll need to represent, I discovered I was becoming exhausted. It's incredible how draining it can be to sit in front of a computer for hours on end. Well, maybe not so incredible when it feels more like slicing open a vein and bleeding my heart out into my keyboard.(In review, that was a pretty emo statement, but I'm going to leave in lieu of a better description.) Regardless, I realized that I needed a lot more endurance if I was to finally persevere to the completion of a project. A google search eventually revealed to me the creature credited with the most endurance. The Penguin. That's right, the fowl variant that I find the most humorous can in fact swim for days on end without the reprieve of coming on land. "God, give me the endurance of a Penguin."

It recently occurred to me that God has a warped sense of humor at times(in justifying that claim, I would direct your attention to the platypus), and so I've since specified that my request for these traits be left in metaphorical terms. However, I personally couldn't resist consolidating my chosen creatures into one. So without further adieu, I submit my mascot proposal on behalf of all aspiring writers and anyone feeling in need of the traits previously outlined.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you...

Skippy, the Wal-guin-ant.

And now you see why I'm a writer and not an artist.