Be the Crocus.
Update on perseverance, dog poop rejections, and WMMC this week.
Oh! I do love crocuses. Those cheeky little bulbs peeking out of the winter-weary earth, braving the near freezing temperatures overnight in anticipation of the sun’s life-giving warmth each morning. They make me want to work hard and make things happen, no matter the odds!
My babies! Crushed in the prime of life! Screw you, snow! And screw you, failure!
Hey, so remember that champagne rejection I got the other day? If not, it doesn’t matter. The champagne was flat, and it gave me a headache. Today I have a different kind of rejection to share.
I’ve been mulling over various analogies for how the whole writer-trying-to-get-traditionally-published gig really feels on a daily basis. It ain’t pleasant, I can tell you that. One of the analogies goes a little like this:
Imagine part of your job was to get kicked in the junk every single day by a total stranger. And even though you didn’t like getting kicked in the junk, you knew you just had to grit your teeth and bear it because one day, instead of getting kicked in the junk by a total stranger, a total stranger might only kick you in the shin or the kneecap.
And you would want to “celebrate” this, no? Sweet Jesus, thank God for this kick to my kneecap. I have hope now that someone has shown my junk mercy.
Okay, now replace “junk” with heart/psyche/sense of self/reason for living and replace “total stranger” with the agent/editor/publication you sent your work to and replace getting mercifully “kicked in the kneecap” with receiving an “it’s not you it’s me” style rejection.
Okay, one more.
You’re a writer trying to get published and you walk into a restaurant that serves “publishing opportunities.”
You aren’t given a menu. Just a plate of dog shit and a spoon.
“What is this?” you ask the faceless waiter who brought you the dog shit.
“You have to eat that if you want to get a book published.”
“But this is disgusting, why would I eat this?”
“Because I’m telling you it’s what is required, if you want to make it in this industry.”
“So, you’re telling me, if I eat this plate of dog shit, I’ll get an agent to represent my work and they’ll be able to sell it to a publisher and my book will get made?”
The waiter shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Here are my two dog poop rejections this week:
I applied for a freelance reader job for an agent I actually know a bit about. I researched her for a class I took last year, so I’m familiar with her client list and what she looks for in a submission. I’m also a voracious reader of YA/MG books which she represents exclusively. I also have 40 years of life experience and a work ethic that could shame a horse. Upon applying for the job, I received an automated response (refreshing) with a timeline of two weeks for hearing back from the agent about my application. A month later, I followed up. Several days after that, she got back to me, thanking me for applying and letting me know that while I was a “fantastic candidate, something wasn’t sparking with [her] in comparison to some of the other applicants,” so I would not be getting an interview.
The second rejection isn’t even officially a rejection yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I entered a writing contest for a magazine I subscribe to (and read and pay for). I submitted my entry LAST JUNE, along with a $25 entry fee, for their Spring 2022 Short Story Contest (which means the winner is published the following spring - so like, any day now). I was informed the submission was received when I sent it (refreshing). Then I was informed in December that the submission was upgraded to being “in progress”. And “in progress” is where it remains. Will they notify me to tell me I wasn’t chosen? Doubtful. Will I find out I wasn’t chosen when the magazine I pay for shows up in my mailbox with the winners announced and I’m not one of ‘em? Likely.
Writing isn’t hard for me. It’s my favorite part of being a writer. And it should be.
But this other stuff? This dog poopy, telling me I have no “spark” after reviewing a two-dimensional screenshot of me, holding my work hostage for a year only to let me find out I didn’t make the team when the list goes up outside the locker room, REALLY makes me want to quit sometimes.
But will I?
Sounds like a shitty week. I've come to believe there is no there there when it comes to being published. It's not life changing and yet we still pursue it as though it is. The joy of doing the work and sharing the work is all I've come to pursue as a daily practice. As for contests that ask you to pay them to reject you? It would be criminal if it weren't just a response by a failing industry to try to generate enough revenue to survive. It's a form of cannibalism. Keep your chin up. Your writing is wonderful.
Hang in there. And just remember the publishing industry is failing because its business model and the dysfunctional ecosystem it created sucks major ass, not because there's a shortage of talented writers and great people out there creating amazing work.
Never give up. Never surrender.
And never forget: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯¯