Rejection

All writers need to deal with rejection. It’s part of the industry. I am well-prepared for this aspect of the writing life from my academic experience. Take today, for example. This morning I received a polite but decisive rejection from the philosophy editor of a respected academic press of a book manuscript that I have been working on for seven years. Sure, I dragged my heels on it for six. But in the past year I did nothing else but work on this manuscript. I had no other research projects. I did no teaching. I was excused from all committee work. All this so that I could devote 100% of my time and effort to completing this manuscript. And I did. Five short weeks ago I was out celebrating with my husband (who was perhaps even more thrilled than I) at my favourite restaurant because I had sent the manuscript out for review to my first-choice press, who agreed to let me send it to my second-choice press one month later. Last week, it went out again.

For ten days I have enjoyed that light, liberated feeling of getting a piece of work well and truly off my desk. The euphoria of this feeling is directly proportional to how long it has been in your life. After seven years, the experience is…is…there are no words.

Here’s what stings the most about this particular rejection. It was from the one who I sent it to last week! Ouch. I mean, no I don’t want my manuscript tied up for months and months only to be rejected. But surely it deserves longer consideration than a few days. Please, humour me with the happy medium.

One thing I do know from experience is that rejection never feels good. At this point, given loads of first-hand experience, it usually triggers a day or two of insecurity. Like, right now I have NO desire to hear from my first-choice press about the manuscript – just seeing correspondence from that editor could send me into fits. But over the past fifteen years I’ve had a reasonable balance of rejections and acceptances, from which I’ve learned that rejection is not always a reflection of the piece. One of my most well-placed publications was first rejected, without even going out for peer review (the equivalent of what just happened with my manuscript today), by an editor at a far lesser journal than the one in which it ultimately appeared. Sometimes rejections come with constructive comments for improving a piece. Other times the comments are useless and should be pitched. Everything I’ve ever written that I actually feel good about finds a home eventually. It’s just been a matter of finding the right match.

So, Mr. Elitist Press Editor’s opinion notwithstanding, I can still say that I like the book. I wouldn’t have sent it out unless I thought of it as a good, careful, interesting, and relevant piece of philosophical analysis. Whether as a scholarly writer or a creative writer, I want to feel that satisfied with every piece that I send out for consideration. Rejection does not have to undermine my confidence in a piece of work that I believe has merit.