Got another short story rejection today. This one was personal, at least; not a form letter, but a description of an historical error that threw the editor out of the story.
It hurts a little less, I guess? To know I got close enough to being accepted that the magazine’s editor read the story, and rejected it themselves. But it’s also frustrating, to have such high hopes for a story, only to see it constantly fail to get published.
And now, of course, I’m diving into more historical research, and thinking of ways to fix the error they called out, while keeping the heart of the story intact. Yet another revision to make before sending it back out.
Or perhaps it’s time to let this one go. Sometimes I think I need to take these rejections less personally. To treat them as less of a challenge, and more like little slips of paper slipped under my door while I’m working. So long as I’m producing more stories to send out, does it matter that much if one of them doesn’t work as well as I’d like? Or to flip it around: If I’m happy with a story, does it matter so much that any particular editor isn’t?
Of course I’m never completely happy with a story. There’s always something to change, some phrase to tweak or scene to re-think.
That’s the thing: I’m always ready to revise. I crave feedback, and once I get it I honor it by making changes. But is that the best way to improve as a writer? Am I making things better, or just delaying working on something new, something to which I can apply all of my lessons learned afresh?
What about you? When you get a rejection, does it spur you to keeping editing? Or do you march on to the next project?
It’s been a rough week for my writing.
The company I work for has had a series of cross-company events this week, and since we’ve got folks working all over the globe, they were held at a time that was convenient for basically no one. For my part, that meant getting up at 4am so I could be awake, showered, and coherent for what some days was five hours of continuous Zoom meetings.
Not conducive to writing, to say the least. I managed to throw down some words on Tuesday after work, but otherwise my brain has just been much at the end of the day. So I’ve only written 269 words on the novel this week.
The meetings are over, so I’m hoping to be able to play catch-up today and tomorrow. Reach my goal of at least 1,250 words before the sun sets on Sunday. But the shift in my schedule meant other errands have also been put off all week, and now I’ve got to juggle all of it together.
And process the short-story rejection I got on Wednesday.
This one hit me harder than I thought it would. Possibly because they’d had it for a couple months, which — once again — gave me hope that it might make it through the gauntlet this time. The form rejection I received — word-for-word the same letter I’ve gotten from the magazine before, despite a change in editors — was a bit of gut-punch, then. I guess it didn’t make it through any part of the gauntlet, after all; folks were just too busy to have even read my story (and then immediately reject it) until now.
So I’m a bit low, and questioning once again why I bother. isn’t it enough to have one job? Why am I trying to have another? Why don’t I just give it a rest, and go do something else with my time? And I don’t have any good answers this go-round.
What do you do, when you think of quitting? How do you keep putting words on the page? Or push yourself to send that story out to one more market?
This week has been…strange.
I received the contract (and check!) in the mail for my first short story sale, which is getting published soon in Galaxy’s Edge magazine after being accepted last August. That’s been an emotional roller-coaster ride all its own, but it’s going to work out in the end.
The same day, riding high on waves of optimism, of the proof that I can write something someone will pay for, I received the latest rejections for two of my short stories that are out circulating.
I know I can’t take any of it personally, but it truly felt like one step forward, two steps back, that day. Made me wonder if perhaps the one sale is all I’ve got in me. It’s nonsense, of course — I’ve got twenty or thirty years of writing left (with luck), and surely can improve a little in all that time — but it’s hard to stare self-doubt in the face and insist you know the future when everything is so uncertain, for everyone.
So, I’m going to do the only thing I can do: Write more, and revise it, and send it out. The only thing I have control over.
How about you? What do you do, when you feel like you’re getting conflicting signals from the outside world about your writing?