It’s a beautiful day: the sun is shining, it’s nearly 80 degrees on October 29th, and I’m taking full advantage of the fact that I can write comfortably on the Earthen Ales patio for possibly the last time this year.
I just got out of an all-day, in-person session at the Hagerty Garage, where I saw two of my subscribers (don’t worry, you are still friends and co-workers to me) and got to talk face-to-face with people I rarely see anymore. It was great.
Oh, and I got my first official rejection letter for a submitted story.
I’m here at Earthen Ales, writing an impromptu post to celebrate these things. I don’t know that I’ve ever been here on a Tuesday before, but considering the forecast, it was worth jumping on the opportunity. Since I was at an in-person event all day, that also meant I had very little time to process my rejection letter, so that is what I’m going to do right now, publicly. Before I start, here it is in its glorious entirety:
So, how do I feel about this? Bummed, of course, but also excited—I’ve gotten the first rejection out of the way. Well, the first official rejection, that is. The Atlantic has had my story for over six months now, but I haven’t heard a peep, so I’m assuming that one is dead in their oceanic water. Besides, it’s my first short story, and if it isn’t good enough for AGNI, it’s probably not good enough for The Atlantic. I suppose part of me hoped I would strike gold on the first swing, but a much larger part of me knew that was very unlikely to happen. This is why I’m actually glad to be starting my writing career (or my attempt at one) in my late thirties. I spent entirely too much of my life as a dumbass, and despite the occasional relapse, I feel like I’ve mostly moved on from that phase. Young me may not have done so well with this news, but then again, if I had started younger, maybe I would be moving on to the better news by now. However, I do not think that way and don’t plan to start now. I’ve found my calling, and I’ll keep working at it no matter what.
Before I dive into this deeper, let me tell you about my favorite author’s advice on rejection. I’m trying not to type his name in every post, so I’ll just remind you if you need reminding, that his name rhymes with Phleeven Phring. (I even put the “ph” in the wrong place.) In On Writing (and in many interviews before and since), Stephen King talks about his rejection nail. (Sorry, the story is so good that I decided I’m not ok with attributing it to his first cousin, one rhyme removed.) The story goes that when he received his first rejection letter, he pounded a nail into the wall above his desk and stuck the letter on it. He was a kid at the time—having found his calling much earlier than I did—and went on to stick so many letters on that nail that he eventually had to pound in another one next to it. For him, it was motivation. Even more motivating (and promising) were the letters that had actual advice or comments included, no matter how harsh or how short.
With that out of the way, let me take a moment to look at the actual rejection letter I received. What do I see? First, it’s an email—I can’t nail an email to the wall. Second, there are zero comments included. I checked the website several times today, but the only comments on my submission are the ones I submitted it with. I had to pay $3 to submit this thing—and if I remember right, that means they were going to read it no matter what—so I’m not really sure what the lack of comments means. Is the story absolute garbage? Is the writing shoddy? Do I have no business submitting this story anywhere? No, I can’t assume any of those things, so I won’t. All I know is that “this submission isn’t right for AGNI,” and that’s what I’m going to leave it at.
I wish I had gotten comments to help me learn more from this experience, but I knew going into this that even comments were rare. What I’ve learned, then, is that the linear-working part of me needs to fall off a Ferris Wheel and die—I can’t submit to one place and wait weeks or months to see if it’s accepted or rejected before submitting to another. I’ve also learned that I’m not going to find success with my first submission—the pickaxe rebounded off solid rock and skewered this gold-digging writer in the eye. I knew that was likely, but now I know for sure.
What I still need to figure out is what my next priority should be. I’m dying to finish revisions (or Ruevisions) on my novel, Rue, but I probably should pull some time away from that to focus on my shorties. I just hit the section of my novel where medical issues come into play, so rather than revising my draft, I’m taking notes on all the medical-related events and context and preparing an email to send to my personal doctor, who I happened to go to elementary school with. I just got his email address today (thanks, Mom), so I need to crank that out for him. I’d love to have some sort of success story to tell when I start farming this novel out so that gives me some clarity on what I need to do next:
Since I submitted to AGNI, I’ve got at least another month of experience as a writer (and some grammar homework under my belt). I probably should give Eulogy another run-through.
I should research more publications to submit Eulogy to (I hate this part).
I need to fast-track edits and revisions for The Water Tower. It’s another short story that is extremely different from Eulogy, and I likely could submit these two stories to different places.
I probably should look into resources to track my submissions (I know these exist, but I’ve been reticent to spend time with them. Now I know it’s necessary.)
As hard as it is to set Rue by the riverside, I think I need to, but only for a short while. It will give me space to move other, more nimble initiatives forward and save me from wasting my time revising work that may need to be overhauled completely on the advice of my doctor. I once laughed as he proceeded with a particularly intimate examination, thinking about the fact that we were once running around the same playground not thinking that we would find ourselves in this embarrassing situation (for me) someday. However, I can tell you that it’s even more bizarre that he will soon be advising me on my first novel.
Life is wild.
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Keep at it! You’ve got real talent!