GlinEtting will be rejected, especially if this happens repeatedly, not very much experience. Someone turns you cold, making a hard pass, saying, “No.” I work as a writer, so I'm no stranger to rejection. I started submitting story ideas and submitting manuscripts 50 years ago, when I graduated from college. At the time, I had two novels rejected, as well as proposals for nonfiction books, short stories, and numerous article fields. Over the past 20 years, since I mostly turned my hand to personal essays and articles, I have been rejected even more. In a typical week, I get rejected every few days – over 100 times a year. The rejections piled up over the course of my career in the thousands. By now I should have a Ph.D. in denial.
So this feature is a Woe-Me rant? Far from it. Because finally, at the age of 73, I accepted rejection.
How did I deal with this? How did I prepare myself to fail on my turn – or even throw it away?
Some context: By this point in my life, almost everyone and their distant cousin had given me the thumbs down. I never kept track of my ratio with the passing of victories – that would be deeply depressing.
Case in point: Recently, as a newspaper editor, I work with NIXED on 20 submissions in a row before I say, “Okay, I'll take it.” In 2016, no less than 50 book publishers vetoed my memoir proposal before anyone gave me the green light. A few years later, 25 literary agents turned down nonfiction offers. One editor to whom I frequently submitted work became so frustrated with my submissions that she asked me a question that no editor had ever asked me before: Do I send her my potential guest essays less often? Let's say once a month?
In my 20s, starting out in my career, all the rejections stung. I took them personally. I felt not only my work, but also me as a person.
Once a manuscript is rejected, I would begin to undergo what I call the “Seven Stages of Rejection”:
First of all, shock. How could this happen? How can these people be blind to my talent?
Secondly, denial. Surely you rejected the wrong person? This must be an administrative error.
Thirdly, dismissal. What do any of you know? Who appointed you to judge my works? You are stupid and your publication stinks. I reject your deviation.
Fourth, anger at those who rejected me, followed by anger at myselfField Why am I doing this to myself? Why do I let myself in for these slings and arrows from strangers passing verdicts on my Job? Am I a masochist or a martyr?
Fifth, negotiations (preferably liberally seasoned with delusion). What will it take To convince you to admit Am I like a once in a generation talent?
Sixth, depression. I'm not good. Moreover, I will never be good.
So it went through the 30s, 40s and 50s.
Of course I was in great company. Stories of writers whose work was initially rejected are legion. Herman Melville Moby-Dick. Mary Shelley Frankenstein. James Joyce's Dublins. Vladimir Nabokova Lolita. Joseph Heller catch-22. Almost every reputation writer was initially rejected. If they could overcome the deviation, then maybe I could too. Michael Jordan was kicked off his high school basketball team. Most US presidents over the past 60 years have previously lost some election: Lyndon B. Johnson, Richard Nixon, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, Ronald Reagan, George W. Bush, Barack Obama and Donald Trump. Sylvester Stallone estimates that his Rocky script and his aspirations to become the film's star were rejected 1,500 times. “I take no for an answer when someone blows a bagona in my ear to wake me up and start rather than back down,” he said.
Then, as I reached my 60s and 70s, I entered the seventh stage of withdrawal. Acceptance. I now better understand many of the reasons why someone says no. For starters, the editor may have recently launched a similar piece, or already has one in the pipeline, or is simply considering something along the same lines for another contributor.
Or, less promisingly, my move is of limited interest. Or the editor thinks I don't have the credentials or stature to live up to the bill. Or no longer on the market for the goods I trade. Or got distracted too quickly and read my submission to appreciate its abundant merits.
Go ahead, call it an epiphany. Anything can be rejected, for any reason, and there is almost nothing anyone can do about it. Some rational signifiers of failure are forever beyond your control.
Others are in it. Let's face it, my pitches and presentations can be poorly thought out at times. They may lack relevance and resonance, or what I am struggling to articulate is not dramatized enough. Or I'm being blatantly unoriginal. Or maybe something about my punctuation, especially the semi-colons, was offensive.
The point is that, despite all my years of pressure and rejection, I managed to be widely published. I've written two books – my first when I was 51, my second, a memoir, 65 – and over 1,000 articles and essays. These works have appeared in publications large and small, in local, national and global newspapers and magazines. My first article ran for the New York Times when I was 26—and now I've contributed to that publication, among other things, for five decades.
Still, no bestsellers, no book signings at Barnes & Noble, no Oprah appearances, no Ted talks, no book awards, no Pulzers, no Nobel and Nobel and Presidential Medal of Freedom pressed around my neck. But I can accept rejection more readily at 73 because my admittedly modest successes have softened the shock of my many rejections. I can afford to be philosophical about all this now.
Rejection can be educational, but only if you listen to what it is trying to teach you. Otherwise, you'll probably just keep making mistakes. So what lessons have I learned?
Here's my advice. First, go through your rejected step. I mean, above it, it's like you were a monk transcribing ancient Greek into a medieval scriptor. You can see it again and figure out how to do it better. If you decide your idea still depends on Snuff, awesome. Immediately send it to another, presumably more insightful, person for a second opinion. Recycling keeps your hopes alive. If, however, as I do too often, you find your idea wanting, then tweak it or even revise it completely. I sometimes realize, to my horror, that my discovery belongs at the end, or vice versa, or some variation of both.
When you come to him, refusing may do you a favor. It forces you to face objective reality. You will learn, perhaps contrary to your long-held expectations, that there is a whole universe outside your own head, and the opinions of others can matter as much as yours. The market has spoken, as have voters in elections, and its decision deserves some respect.
Rejection can also strengthen your spirit. It knocks you down and challenges you to get back on your feet. You study humility because nothing conveys humility better than being completely humbled. It can also strengthen your resolve because the more you are rejected, the more you can push through. Failure gives you an education in the art of resilience, the ability to bounce back from failure, an attribute essential to maintaining an entrepreneurial mindset.
In no way am I recommending failure as a desired outcome or stepping stone to success. But in the best scenarios, rejection can inspire us to stay true to ourselves and fly closer to the sun. Rejection can make you believe that not only can you do better, but that you should do better, should do better, and should be more successful. “Rejections,” said the Nobel novelist Soul Bellow, “teach the writer to rely on his own judgment and speak in his heart of hearts, “to you, to you.”
And that's what I'm accepting of rejection now. It's certainly easier for me to admit my vulnerability and enjoy my new change of heart than it is for writers decades younger than me.
This is what I told my daughter Caroline when she began her career as a freelance writer in her late 20s—but the advice, I think, applies to how we all choose to live our daily lives. “Rejection is hard,” I wrote. “What I do – and what you can do – is quite simple. Firstly, write as well as possible. This is always priority number one. Second, write about what is important to you and give it the time it needs to ferment. Third, stay productive – the more you create, the better your prospects. Always have something in development, no matter what you just dream about yourself, what you actually write, in the fourth. will pay off.”
If I've learned anything at all as I've gotten older – and I must have picked something up – it's that life can be yes or no. So the sooner you learn to adapt to no, the sooner you'll have a chance.
