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Encountering refusal, particularly when it occurs frequently, is far from pleasant. An editor is saying no, delivering a definite “Nope.” Working in writing, I am familiar with setbacks. I began pitching story ideas five decades ago, upon completing my studies. From that point, I have had multiple books declined, along with article pitches and many short stories. Over the past score of years, concentrating on personal essays, the refusals have only increased. Regularly, I face a setback multiple times weekly—totaling more than 100 each year. Cumulatively, rejections over my career number in the thousands. At this point, I might as well have a PhD in rejection.

So, does this seem like a self-pitying rant? Not at all. Since, at last, at seven decades plus three, I have come to terms with rejection.

In What Way Did I Achieve This?

A bit of background: Now, almost every person and their relatives has said no. I haven’t tracked my acceptance statistics—it would be deeply dispiriting.

As an illustration: lately, a publication rejected 20 submissions consecutively before approving one. A few years ago, at least 50 publishing houses rejected my memoir proposal before one accepted it. Later on, 25 literary agents passed on a book pitch. An editor even asked that I submit potential guest essays less frequently.

The Steps of Rejection

In my 20s, all rejections were painful. I took them personally. I believed my writing was being turned down, but who I am.

Right after a submission was turned down, I would go through the process of setback:

• Initially, shock. How could this happen? Why would editors be blind to my ability?
• Second, denial. Maybe you’ve rejected the mistake? This must be an mistake.
• Third, rejection of the rejection. What do any of you know? Who appointed you to decide on my work? You’re stupid and your publication is poor. I refuse this refusal.
• After that, frustration at those who rejected me, then frustration with me. Why do I do this to myself? Could I be a masochist?
• Subsequently, pleading (preferably mixed with false hope). How can I convince you to acknowledge me as a unique writer?
• Then, depression. I lack skill. Additionally, I can never become accomplished.

So it went through my 30s, 40s and 50s.

Great Precedents

Naturally, I was in good company. Accounts of authors whose work was originally turned down are numerous. The author of Moby-Dick. The creator of Frankenstein. The writer of Dubliners. The novelist of Lolita. The author of Catch-22. Virtually all famous writer was first rejected. Because they managed to persevere, then perhaps I could, too. The basketball legend was not selected for his youth squad. Many US presidents over the last 60 years had previously lost races. Sylvester Stallone claims that his script for Rocky and attempt to appear were turned down numerous times. He said rejection as someone blowing a bugle to wake me up and get going, rather than retreat,” he stated.

Acceptance

Later, when I entered my senior age, I achieved the seventh stage of rejection. Acceptance. Now, I better understand the many reasons why an editor says no. To begin with, an editor may have recently run a like work, or be planning one underway, or just be thinking about that idea for someone else.

Or, more discouragingly, my idea is of limited interest. Or the editor thinks I am not qualified or reputation to fit the bill. Or is no longer in the business for the work I am peddling. Or was too distracted and reviewed my work too fast to recognize its quality.

Go ahead call it an realization. Any work can be rejected, and for any reason, and there is pretty much nothing you can do about it. Many rationales for denial are always not up to you.

Manageable Factors

Some aspects are within it. Honestly, my proposals may from time to time be ill-conceived. They may be irrelevant and resonance, or the point I am struggling to articulate is insufficiently dramatised. Alternatively I’m being flagrantly unoriginal. Maybe an aspect about my punctuation, notably dashes, was unacceptable.

The essence is that, despite all my long career and rejection, I have succeeded in being widely published. I’ve published two books—the initial one when I was 51, the next, a memoir, at retirement age—and in excess of numerous essays. Those pieces have been published in publications large and small, in diverse outlets. My debut commentary ran when I was 26—and I have now submitted to various outlets for five decades.

Still, no major hits, no author events in bookshops, no features on popular shows, no Ted Talks, no honors, no big awards, no Nobel Prize, and no national honor. But I can more readily accept rejection at my age, because my, admittedly modest accomplishments have softened the stings of my setbacks. I can afford to be philosophical about it all now.

Instructive Setbacks

Denial can be educational, but when you pay attention to what it’s indicating. If not, you will almost certainly just keep interpreting no’s all wrong. So what teachings have I acquired?

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