Beating the rejection blues

Every now and then I get an email from a reader that needs a public response, not just a private one. And this week I got one from – well, I shan’t tell you who it was from, but we will call her Samantha Santana. (I’m in a mood for As and Ss. Her middle names are Sara Amanda. Her daughter is Sandra Martha.)

Samantha wrote:

A newsletter on beating rejection sadness would be very helpful. Even you may have suffered your share?

It is lovely to indulge oneself in magical dreams of scribbling for a living but what if the dream becomes clotted with misery? How does a quirky scribbler elevate themselves so they too can feast on a drop of sunshine? And how does one stop reading news of celeb book deals for juicy 7 figures and “content providers” who’ve bagged lovely agents without scribbling a word!  And have the strength to deal with REJECTION with panache and dignity.

And how do we little minions of the lit world who don’t have sisters or aunts or cousins called Araminta or Rowena navigate this vast cess pool of pirates and peddlers who want to sell not so much the book but the author are they marketable will they appeal, ra ra ra.

 Where are we on the literary radar and will we ever be more than just jolly hobby enthusiasts?

Well. Where to start?

I haven’t as it happened suffered a huge amount of rejection: my first book sailed through to publication. My adversities came later, when I already had the shelter of an agent and a track record. But Lord knows that rejection is a standard part of the writer’s life. Agents saying no. Magazines saying no. Publishers saying no. Publishers saying yes, then no. Agents saying yes, then being useless, then saying no. It can easily seem that most authorial pathways end with a single short and round-syllabled word.

But defences against the gloom do exist. Here are some:

1. Sisters, aunts and cousins called Araminta

On the one hand it’s true that Planet Agent draws deeply on a narrow section of society – whiter, posher, more liberal-artsy and more female than the world around them. (They aren’t all called Araminta, but my first marketing person was called Venetia, and I do know what you mean.)

But although the demographics of Planet Agent are deeply skewed, the planet is fundamentally meritocratic. It’s not looking for writers-with-contacts. It’s looking for manuscripts to love.

My first agent, it turned out, knew my sister. But I only found out about that relationship later. What secured the deal was that my manuscript – a slushpile submission like everyone else’s – kept her up at night reading it. She made the offer before she knew that I was my sister’s brother. The manuscript was and is the the thing that matters more than anything else.

2. Celeb book deals for juicy 7 figures

Yep. If you’re a celebrity or (yuk) an ‘influencer’, you can get a book deal that will stuff your pocket with a few more dollars, pounds, and rupees. But so what? Those people sell books, yes, but they aren’t of our world, not really. They often don’t have the esteem of the agents or editors who handle them.

When Pippa Middleton, sister to a future queen, writes a book called Celebrate, does anyone in the entire world think she’s been selected for her literary merit? Is it any surprise that if you Google the book, one of the top-ranked search results is a piece from Buzzfeed entitled, Pippa Middleton’s 19 Most Painfully Obvious Pieces of Advice? Sample entry: ‘Star-gazing is best in pitch darkness on a very clear night.’

So who cares about those celeb deals? Who really cares? That’s just celebs living in celeb-land. They have nothing to do with us.

3. Magical dreams of scribbling for a living

To be clear, most authors don’t write for a living or, rather, the writing forms only part of a broader portfolio income.

I’ve been a pretty successful author over the years – multiple six-figure deals, film sales, lots of international sales, and so on – but still. Writing income is lumpy and uncertain. There are bad years and good years. It’s not a coincidence that I built Jericho Writers. It’s not just fun; I’ve needed it. The same thing, roughly, is true of most authors whose books lie face-up on the front tables of bookshops. Most of those writers will have other sources of income. The few who don’t are exceptions, and always blessed by luck, not merely talent.

4. A quirky scribbler of panache and dignity

Most people who start writing books don’t finish them.

Most people who do, don’t do nearly enough to edit them into shape.

And even when writers really do work hard and seriously on their manuscripts, a majority of those won’t sell because they’re not yet ready for the market.

It’s easy to fall into despair at that point, but that’s only because your view is still too narrow. The first manuscript, often the second one as well, is usually a learning project. Not always, but often. It’s where you learn the structures, techniques and disciplines. You can supplement that on-the-job learning with writing courses and manuscript assessments and all that (those things will hugely accelerate your path), but you still have to learn.

Dancers go to dance school. Painters go to art college. You don’t have to do a university-style course, but you do have to put in the hours learning the trade. That’s not failure; that’s diligence.

And if the first project doesn’t fire, then, after a certain point, you just need to ditch it and start something else, full of the learning and insight you’ve accumulated on the way. (My plea before you start that second project? Nail the elevator pitch. Get it right. We have tons of great material on that for JW members. We have some free stuff available as well.)

Your panache and dignity lie in realising that a rejection letter doesn’t mean ‘You’re crap.’ It means, ‘You’re not there yet. Carry on, good luck and God speed.’ Agents and editors generally have real respect for anyone who produces a properly competent, full-length manuscript. That doesn’t mean they’ll make an offer, but respect? Yes, you’ve earned it.

5. Jolly hobby enthusiasts & feasting on sunshine

Look. Being a jolly hobby enthusiast is a deeply honourable status, not something to be ashamed of. Let’s say your weekend hobby were painting watercolours in a city park. It wouldn’t really occur to you that you had to sell those paintings in some swanky gallery in order to justify the way you spend the time. The point is the painting. The point is the writing.

And yes, I’ve earned plenty of cash from writing. But even for me, the purpose is still the writing. I have a ridiculous side-project on the go at the moment, which may or may not be marketable. I didn’t engineer it to be marketable. I don’t ultimately mind too much if it sells or doesn’t. I’ve just enjoyed making it. I’m proud of the thing I’ve made.

And in the end, that’s the thing. That’s the whole thing.

Do you love the hours you spend immersed in your work?

If you do, my friend, you have your own private sun and you may feast on its light whenever you have an hour spare to do so.

I’ll tell you something else as well, which is that even when you have an agent and a publisher and people air-kissing you and telling you how excited they are about your book, the problems don’t go away. The nature of the problems changes, for sure, but the road doesn’t always feel less arduous. Indeed, some of the most difficult times I’ve had as a writer have been when I’m contractually locked into a relationship with a publisher and that publisher has not been performing as I’d want. I’ve had more problems writing under those circumstances than I have when writing something speculative, without contract.

You lot have your own private suns. Soak up those sunbeams. Be happy. And yes, a tip from Pippa Middleton here, don’t try star-gazing in broad daylight. It seldom works.