Rejection, especially the seemingly relentless rejection of querying literary agents or applying for fellowships, can be exhausting. Other times a single rejection hits especially hard after a brutal workday or on the heels of a bad conversation with family. What to do?
100 Rejections Club — this Substack and Inlandia’s member club — isn’t about papering over how rejection feels. When we reexamine what rejection means, we learn, grow, and can even thrive. Especially in community.
Day 10 of this cold/cough thing. Yesterday morning, I thought I saw light at the end of the mucus-lined tunnel, then I ran out of steam by late afternoon. Because of my compromised immune system, it takes me longer than the average bear to get over these pesky bugs.
This week I’ve been physically embodying what rejection feels like. Waves of exhaustion? Defeatist babble of my Inner Critic. Muddled thinking? Losing track of my creative determination. Raw throat? How rejection burns going down. Face stuffed with extraneous gunk (pretty picture, eh)? Rejection seemingly takes over.
When I bowed out of nonessential gatherings and meetings to rest (sleep = magic elixir), all the notes of support reminded me I have communities. Writing community. Parenting community. Working community. Friends and family.
Community makes all the difference, whether dealing with an interminable cold or seemingly insurmountable publishing odds. When (not if!) I get over this bug, I intend to share about the many ways community makes rejection better.
Next time: No more gunk.
Be well!
One can't let rejection affect writing. One way to combat this is submit to venues with an honest chance, like lit mags (STAY AWAY from those with submission fees) or commercial mags. Not sure the term honest chance can be applied to most fellowships, which often charge and appear to be just fee-collecting vehicles, or agents, who likely aren't considering new writers anyway.