Why Rejection is a Good Thing, or, Those Bitches Will Pay One Day!

In my email last night I had a response from the big NY publisher I’d sent my most recent manuscript to. It was a rejection, though probably the nicest rejection I’ve ever gotten. A sort of “really like your voice and your writing, not so hot on the story” thing.

I made Christine read the email first, which she begged me not to make her do. But she is a good and loyal friend, so while I guzzled half a glass of pinot grigio for courage, she did. And I think she was as sad as I was when she gave me the news.

Except that I’m not really that sad. Oh, I’m certainly disappointed – a rejection wasn’t what I was hoping for, after all. I was hoping for a multi-book contract that would allow me to walk into work and quit on the spot, but that’s not the point. The point is that rejection is sometimes a good thing.

How, you ask, can that possibly be good? I’ll tell you.

First, the story I sent in? It’s not my best work. I knew it wasn’t my best work when I sent it in (even though both Christine and I think it’s better than half the stuff out there). And though I did rewrite large sections of it to tighten the story and strengthen the characters, I simply wasn’t willing to put in the weeks and possibly months it would have taken me to really revamp things properly. I started writing this story in the fall of 2007, and it’s really been the only project on my plate since then. Frankly, I was sick of looking at it, and wanted it gone.

And really? I think my fatigue and apathy for it showed. So it deserved a rejection.

The other reason rejection is good? It strengthens me – eventually. It’s a multi step process:

• Step One: mope for about twenty minutes, during which time I’ve been known to wail and cry out to the heavens: “When will it be MY turn?!”

• Step Two: When sanity returns, I take a good look at the rejection, and what exactly the editor was saying – in this case she said she liked the voice and writing, but the story was a bit weak. Hmm…okay, that’s something I can work with.

• Step Three: Talk to Christine. She is my compass, my sounding board for all things author related, so I dump everything on her - all my fears and worries and anxieties about my work, my career, etc. And she, bless her generous soul, tells me what she sees as the problem with the manuscript, what she thinks I need to do to get it back on track, and anything else she thinks I need to hear. She tells me the truth, even when I don’t really want to hear it. And after I’ve digested all that, rehashed anything I was unclear on, maybe had a little time to mull things over, I’m ready to move on.

• Step Four: Go back to work. I take all the things Christine and I talked about, all the good points from the editor, all the things I know in my gut need to be fixed, and I go to work on them.

They say the best revenge is living well. My best revenge is writing well. I am a good writer, and I will eventually sell to New York. And when that day comes, I’ll think fondly of all the editors who rejected me, making me better and stronger in the process. And I’ll smile, and think, “I told you bitches you were going to pay one day.”

in the wee small hours

This morning I woke up at 4:25 am and couldn’t get back to sleep. My mind was spinning in all different directions. Balancing my checkbook: did I remember to record the electric bill I paid last week? My upcoming weekend: meeting my boyfriend’s mother, eek! The dog's heartworm medication: did I already give that to him this month? And so on.

4:25 is way too early to be awake. It’s what’s referred to in our house as “the crack of stupid”, as dawn was still a ways off (though the sky was starting to lighten - dawn comes pretty early here in the Pacific Northwest). And all the unproductive wandering my mind was doing was making it impossible to get back to sleep.

So in an effort to at least be semi-productive while lying there staring at the ceiling, I started thinking about the story I’ve been working on since October 2005.

In October 2005 I was sitting in a bar in San Francisco with Christine and our darling friend Shannon. It was our joint vacation, the only time the three of us would be able to get together for the year, as I was still living in Texas and they were both in New Jersey. We’d planned to go to New Orleans, but Hurricane Rita had just recently made visiting (and living in) New Orleans impossible, so at the last minute we changed course and headed to SF.

While Christine had visited the city before, I’d never been and neither had Shannon, so we were doing all sorts of touristy things (and other things, seeing as how we were there for Fleet Week, but that’s another story). So we’d traipsed up to Haight-Ashbury – just to say we had – and found this little bar. Traipsing is hard work, especially with all those hills down there, so we settled in with a round of cocktails. And I got to talking about this idea I had for a new book.

Paranormals aren’t my strong suit , but I had an idea to combine the basic elements of a paranormal with a contemporary romantic comedy, which is what I do best, into a story about a witch. A witch who has “issues” with her unique gifts, some rather unconventional ideas about how to best make use of them, and the trouble that ensues.

I remember scrounging for a pad of paper and a pen, bouncing ideas off both Christine and Shannon and incorporating their feedback into the notes I was making. I came out of that bar jazzed and raring to go.

And almost four years later I’m still not finished. Lest you think I’m a complete sloth I have started it. A few times, actually. But I always end up hating what I’ve done and tossing it to start over, and the result is that after four years I’ve got a handful of notes and nothing else.

But you know, that nearly two hours between 4:25 and my alarm going off at 6:10 might have jump started things. I’ll keep you posted.