The worst thing about a rejection letter – besides the outright rejection, of course – is its vagueness. For job seekers or students, the lack of feedback is endlessly frustrating, maddening even. But for writers, it’s a gift. As people who deal in words, we are happy to fill in the blanks, adding color and context to what that editor really wanted to say if only she had the time and energy to do it.
When my story submissions or query letters are declined, I can’t help but rewrite the rejection letters. I need reasons, answers, apologies – and my imagination is here for me, dropping praise and regret in equal parts. The publication doesn’t want my piece, but I somehow manage to convince myself that their “no” is really more of a “not right now.”
Last week, I got a rejection letter from Modern Love. I had written a story about how a chance encounter with a Finnish local jumpstarted a two-year love affair. It was organized around the idea that falling in love is a series of risks: Introducing yourself to a stranger at a bar; allowing yourself to be talked into jumping into the frozen sea on a first date; inviting the person to board a ferry to Estonia, last minute without so much as a toothbrush. My story was all about “plunging into the unknown” in both the literal and metaphorical sense.
The section editor of The New York Timesdidn’t quite get it, as you can see below from his rejection letter [additions mine].
Dear Nova Halliwell,
Thank you for sending your writing to Modern Love. Although I don’t find your essay right for our needs [which are questionable and, indeed, somewhat misaligned to the wants of our readers], I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to consider it [for three full months, during which time our editorial staff debated your work with vigor and, on more than one occasion, came to blows about whether or not to accept it. It was a close decision and, if I’m being honest, not the right one.] I regret that the volume of submissions we receive makes it impractical for me to offer editorial feedback.
Best wishes,
Editor
To be completely honest, I was not surprised by the news. Just a few weeks ago, I read the piece to Johann, who knew I submitted a story about our meeting, but never saw a copy until months after the fact. As I finished my dramatic reading, even I had to admit that it was not my best work. I mean, it was fine, I guess, as far as stories go, but it lacked the personality and humor that my writing usually has. I wasn’t left with a sense of wanting more or wondering what happened next. In hindsight, the biggest clue that it wasn’t up to snuff was that it took me several months to finally share it with the person it was about.
But I clung to the idea that it might be accepted (pending revisions) if only for the concept. Modern Love has plenty of stories about divorce and cancer and the wear and tear of marriage, but it offers relatively little from the lighter side: first dates; the joy of falling in love; the way meeting someone new opens the door to the unexpected, and in my case, borderline impossible. I hoped that the substance of my idea – a digital nomad settling down – would make up for my lack of style.
Apparently, it did not. Although the volume of submissions makes it impossible to really know for sure.
All that said, even if I was not surprised by the rejection, I was still disappointed to receive it. I think most of us can understand the feeling. After getting turned down, it is impossible not to spend a little time dwelling on the loss, wondering who beat you and what they did so much better. When it comes to writing, it’s pretty easy to find answers. It’s all right there in the Style section. I was beaten this week by a woman who uses March of the Penguins as a metaphor for her deteriorating marriage and I am not making that up or exaggerating it in any way. Last week, I lost to a guy who wrote about how growing up as a queer, closeted teen robbed him of experiencing the innocence of love. On and on I could go, making a list of whose writing is better than mine – and, yes, those two essays were better than mine. Much better, actually. I would have picked them too.
Even if I can admit that someone else’s work was better, I try not to go down that rabbit hole of comparison. It’s not healthy, for one thing. And it’s not productive either. Researching a publication to familiarize yourself with the content is one thing. Cyberstalking The New York Times’ contributors across social platforms is quite another. There is no value in that. At the end of the day, if I want my writing to be published, I have to spend time writing, not rage reading.
Time, by the way, is something that I seem to have less and less of these days. Like most people in their late 30s, I am living a full life with a busy schedule. If there is something I really want to do, then I have to prioritize it and keep hammering away at it. I know that it’s is never too late to dream a dream, but getting good at something takes time. I am keenly aware that I have less of that today than I did yesterday.
Now is about the time when someone will remind me that I am still relatively young and that the pages of history are full of late bloomers: Martha Stewart published her first book at 41. Samuel L. Jackson was 46 (and recovering from a cocaine and heroin addiction) when he was cast in Pulp Fiction. Sam Walton opened his first Walmart store at 44. I take nothing away from those people. At the same time, I don’t really want to hear about outliers and moon shots. I would prefer to hit my peak before I enter my 40s, preferably without a drug problem.
Besides, those examples are about what is to come later, with hard work and patience. When you get a rejection letter, you don’t want to hear about a cold dish of revenge served up 15 years from now. You want something more immediate. And for that, I turn to the internet.
If you want to feel better about unrecognized writing skills, all you have to do is read the one-star Amazon reviews. Nothing quite puts the spring back in my step like hearing a perfect stranger describe Slaughterhouse-Five as “a completely pointless novel with no closure” or 1984 as “such a waste of time.” It’s an instant pick me up. My logic goes like this: if someone has the nerve to call Lolita “booring!”, then it is possible that the editor of Modern Love just wasn’t in a position to recognize my talent. Do I really believe that? No. Of course not. I’m no Nabokov. But it’s fun. And I would rather have some fun than wallow in self-doubt.
Shall we?
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris
nope. Don’t bother, This guy couldn’t get a handle on his adolescence. Blames problems on others and is impressionable. not a good book, too many others out there
The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls
I began to doubt the truth of this memoir when she referred to Fish Creek Canyon, Arizona, as being West of Bullhead City. The only state West of Bullhead City is Nevada and Fish Creek Canyon is far to the East in the Superstition Mountains near Phoenix Arizona. Sloppy work…I also found her descriptions of the desert generic.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
Pretty disappointed with the quality of the paper.
I Was Told There Would be Cakeby Sloane Crosley
Filing this one as “How NOT to write a book.”
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
This is the most poorly written book about nothing that I have ever read!
Wild by Cheryl Strayed
How could anyone do something so stupid and then tell everybody about how stupid they were!
The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson
If you enjoy reading dry textbooks, then this is the book for you.
This is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz
All I can say is: I have a LOT of awful things to say about this book, but I refuse to waste any more time than the already invested in this pathetic piece..
In all seriousness, I share this post as a matter of honesty. So often, with social media, you only get the highlights. You don’t see the work. You don’t take the hits. You don’t experience the lows. All you get is a recap years later that glosses over all the hard work that got you there. And while I don’t begrudge anyone for wanting to keep life’s little failures private, I personally don’t feel the need to do it myself. I’m here saying that I didn’t get it this time and that’s OK. I’m going to keep trying until I do. I’m going to keep at it just as long as time allows.
It’s always like a poke in the nose, isn’t it. No matter how many stories or novels or poems you do get published, every rejection is personal and an affront.
It doesn’t help that you’re so close to the subject matter, either.
You write well, crisp and clear and funny, and there is always a magazine for that, somewhere.
You’re wise to just keep pushing, rather than getting stuck on a rejection here and there.
Their loss, not yours. Yessir.
Thank you for saying as much. I’ll get to where I’m going eventually… until then, trying not to get stuck :) xx
I needed to read this today. Thank you, digital fren.
Good. Glad to hear. xx
Okay, real talk:
1. I commend you for submitting. I so often convince myself that my work wouldn’t be accepted o why bother. I’m working on this.
2. In the vein of #1: I never submit to Modern Love for the exact reason you point out here! Everything in Modern Love is sad and my love story is a weird and wonderful one.
But also I’m scared of rejection.
Hi – forgive the late reply. I’ve been on in fairytale land.
1. SUBMIT. No excuses. Start putting your stuff out there. If you think it’s not good enough, make it better and then SUBMIT. You, me and everyone else like us needs to start actioning the plan.
2. Should we start a blog called Alternative Modern Love? I think there’s one called Modern Love Rejects, which is exactly what it sounds like, though I’m not sure it’s still live. I think there’s a market.
3. Rejection is scary. Not trying is worse.
xx