The Rejection Letter

I worked on a chapbook proposal over several months: synopsis, artist’s vision, budget, digital manuscript, cover letter, publishing history, chapbook prototype, details regarding paper, printing, binding.

And also - why? The publisher I was submitting to needed to know why this particular project? Why that format? Why that size? Why those visuals? Why? That universal question began to burrow deeper into my psyche than I intended. Why am I doing this? Why am I here?

The hard copy prototype was the most work. Carefully, I executed the layout: what image where and - why? And what text in what font and - why? I'm not a graphic artist but I did my best. Then I took it to the printer who interpreted my layperson instructions and produced a handsome book(let). I carried it home as if it were a new baby.

Don't ask me why.

The day finally came when I put all the physical aspects of the project into a big manilla envelop, glued and taped it shut, then toddled off to the post office with it protectively stashed under my coat. Stamped and blessed, I sent it on its way like I was sending my baby off to summer camp. Did I dress her in warm enough clothes (aka bubble wrap)? Did I pack enough tasty snacks (aka fabulous cover letter)? And most importantly, will she find friends (aka a publisher)?

I waved goodbye to my camper-kid then came home to write the letter I expected to get from the publisher in a few weeks time, sent to me in the SASE I provided with my camper-kid...I mean, in my package:

Dear Ms Wilson

We have reviewed your proposal for the chapbook titled 1981. After much deliberation we have decided it is not for us. This was not an easy decision to make and we hope you will consider submitting to us again in the future. We wish you all the luck with your project. Thank you for sharing your work with us.

Best,

Every Publishing Co. You Submit To

Now, I know what you’re supposed to do in this situation: think positive, visualize your work being published, write a letter to yourself telling yourself how much you adore yourself, look in the mirror and say what a genius you are. All this is supposed to help get your book published.

This puts me in mind of a paragraph in Postcards from the Edge by Carrie Fisher. The main character, Suzanne, is an actress and she's just learned that a part she was promised has been given to someone else. She reflects -

“If you don’t want me for the job, I don’t want the job. If you don’t want me for the girl, I don’t want to be the girl. My want can only do so much in terms of changing what’s actually occurring with other people, and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want to feel that if I had wanted something more, or had said one other thing or had worn a different dress, or had been more mysterious, or more open, then I would get something or someone I wouldn’t get otherwise.”

If you don't want to publish my chapbook I don't want you to publish my chapbook. And neither my camper-kid nor I are going to put on any different frocks in hopes of pleasing you.

As a writer I'm no stranger to rejections. Recently, I got an email from a quarterly I'd submitted a short story to. It said: "Thank you for entering..." and continued with "Sadly, your entry did not win the contest."

Can we just stop right here? I really wish these people wouldn't begin any of their rejection sentences with "sadly". Why are they sad? Are they sad for me? Sad for themselves? Why? Because they have lousy jobs? Because I'm a lousy writer and they had to read my story? Because they want to be writers but instead they're stuck reading hundreds of dreadful entries?

I'm not sad that they didn't want my story, so why should they be? I'm sad for children dying needlessly, I'm sad for kind people being treated like sewer rats, I'm sad about the attempted erasure of minority populations, but I'm not sad that some people I don't even know didn't like my work.

Occasionally, I will allow myself a good wallow in self pity - you know, those days when you just want to dwell on your bad luck or rue what an inconsequential speck you are in the whole scheme of things. Then, I might rant to the walls or curse the sky (a healthy venting) but the editors don't know about my melancholy monologues, so I ask them to please not be sad for me.

"Unfortunately" is also an unfortunate word to open a rejection paragraph with. How do they know that their turning me down isn't the turning point of my life? I think we've all heard the story of Julie Andrews not being selected to make the movie of My Fair Lady after starring on Broadway in it. No sooner was she turned down for that movie role than she got offered Mary Poppins.

Does this mean my rejected-story/camper-kid will be starring in a big musical next month?

I'm not saying I'm abandoning positive thinking. It's best to swing on the upside of things but I don't want to indulge in toxic positivity or bury my head in the sand. I believe in magic but I eschew magical thinking. I'll just get back to practicing the craft, realizing that the process is the reward.

It's been five weeks and there's no word from my camper-kid.

I'll keep you posted.