Rejection feels like that wind too, sharp and merciless, reminding me of my insignificance in relation to the planet and the billions of people living on this earth. Rejection, like the wind, can be hazardous, undermining determination, it's cold fingers tightening around my throat, threatening to freeze the flow of my words, to stiffen my hand with cramps, to muffle my voice with snowbanks. I may be familiar with the paralyzing effects of rejection yet I am not used to it, eventhough it has followed me all my life. No rejection is worse than that of being rejected by family. After that, all other rejections seem exponentially less injurious and lacerating. Still, they feel uncomfortable, and they make me question if my reasons for writing are good ones, and reassess my ability and talent. Like the wind, uncertainty and doubts whirl around me, making me lose my footing, obscuring the path to my destination.
Rejections come in various guises, or are wrapped in a different arrangements of words or gestures or negligences. The most recent from a literary magazine, didn’t actually send out a rejection letter, and instead emailed a list of those that were accepted for that issue. Among those selected I noticed that none appeared to be over 35, for one. Their selection did not give evidence of the full cultural spectrum that makes up Canada and I wonder if my life is being written out of my country’s literary and social history because of my cultural heritage, my age, my gender, my social status. Am I considered politically and socially irrelevant and therefore deserve to be overlooked and excluded? In his book, On Writing and Failure, Stephen Marche says that "The standard method of destroying writers is casual indifference." Days like today, I find myself thinking, Oh to be attractive, photogenic, youthful, and have the right kind of name! On the heels of that rejection, came another days later.
I visualize what rejection might look like; give it a shape, colour, texture, odour, sound. Its sounds like fingernails on a blackboard or the scrunching up of a piece of paper in preparation for the wastebasket; its colour and odour that of rotting compost filled with maggots; what it feels like - thousands of pins, possibly spikes, being driven into my flesh. Rejection has trailed me all my life, like a stalker set on vanquishing me.
What is the lesson it's trying to teach me?
Like so many other situations in life, I have learned that I must stand up to it and stare it in the face; to not be cowed by it; to challenge it and to not be silent about it; to be ready to defend myself if need be; to tell it, ‘you don’t scare me, you don’t intimidate me, and you won’t stop me.’
Rejection isn’t failure because the main difference is that it is evidence of one's effort to 'succeed'. Neither is failure defeat. Rejection doesn’t mean I am loser or that my writing isn’t worthy of being read. Rejection doesn’t mean readers don't want to read what I’ve written. Rejection doesn’t necessarily occur because of objective choices, but is a by-product of a process of elimination, using various kinds of criteria, but not necessarily including whether the writing is any good.
Rejection keeps me humble, reminding me that the world has not been waiting for me with baited breath, eventhough I rush enthusiastically to the blank page, curious and excited to see what it will reveal to me. That page is eager to soak up my words at least. I practice using this humility as my ally, nurturing my creativity and my ideas. For many, humility doesn’t suit then; feels too belittling and damns them up. Rejection/humility hones me, whittles me to a fine point of focus from which the unique qualities of my writing might emerge. Why? Because to go on after rejection, I am not writing necessarily for anyone else’s approval, but I am writing what I need and have to write about. Rejection has kept me ever vigilant and mindful of my writing process, weighing and measuring my words carefully, much as one would do to maintain a healthy diet and keep one's body fit. Though rejection may keep me humble, I will not permit it to diminish me nor be an obstacle on my path.
I have developed various strategies to help take the sting out of rejection. One is by taking the notification and changing the wording and transforming it to a letter of acceptance and congratulations. Visualization is what they call this tactic. Athletes and musicians are just some of the people who use it to aid their success. Taking a moment to remember, cherish and feel gratitude for those submissions that have been successful or accepted or looking at my list of writing achievements also keeps me writing. But one of the most important strategies in my first aid kit is my writing group. We have kept each other going because of our admiration for each other as people and as writers.
To date, I have had over thirty rejections in the course of about eighteen months. Half of them were 'invisible rejections' because the publisher or agent never acknowledged my submission (unless you think automated emails are acknowledgement) so that makes me thankful for those who took the time to respond in one way or another. Thirty is a small number compared to those of other writers who have shared their list. Marche tells us that he kept track of all his rejections received in his twenties, until they reached the two thousand mark. In one week alone, he received seven. I've got some catching up to do! Because of rejection, Gertrude Stein self-published her first book, Three Lives, British publishers objected to her use of the English language – her use of repetition - of words, phrases, sentences; of the social class and sexual desires (and repression) of the women she wrote about. According to Marche, "Jack London kept his letters of rejection impaled on a spindle, and eventually the pile rose to four feet, around six hundred rejections. Marcel Proust and Beatrix Potter had to self-publish. It took Agatha Christie five years to find her way into print." He goes on to say that ...."The Diary of Anne Frank was rejected fifteen times, A Wrinkle in Time, twenty six, Gone With the Wind thirty-eight." Whew! Impressive!
So there is a shift in the way I view my rejection list, and it is a list I am now proud of because I see it is a measure of my trying, of my efforts to put my writing out there. It takes courage and strength to do that again and again without it damaging your creativity and disturbing your equanimity. I have come to understand that I am not any worse, or better than many writers; that I am equally deserving of publication; that publishers select authors who fit a certain trending profile, and/or who fulfill their politically- and/or socially-correct interests and agenda. I have come not to take it personally.
Rejection at first blast, deconstructs me, much in the same way that winter suppresses life, stripping it of leaves and burying evidence of plants and flowers, driving animals into hibernation. In the act of writing (and of creativity), a reconsidering, a remembering and recalling of life lessons arises. Through this process, rejection reconstructs me with resoluteness. And like the natural occurrence of the seasons, spring follows winter, and within me too, a rebirth occurs, followed by a resurrection.
Melissa Williams #stephenmarche Stephen Marche #rejection #reflection #renaissaince #rebirth #exclusion #gertrudestein #jacklondon #gonewiththewind #thediaryofannefrank #resoluteness #simasharifa #susanangel #karindoucette
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