Overcome That Fear of Rejection

OVERCOME THAT FEAR OF REJECTION

By Cathy A. Corn

(Author’s note: This was written long ago, in a far distant galaxy, when we only submitted our writing gems via mail, when Johnny Carson helped us sleep with crazy antics on his show, and the Internet and Indie publishing were just a glimmer on the horizon. Nevertheless, the principles are all the same, so this is definitely worth the read. Or at least, so my cat Cato tells me.)

So, you want to be a writer. Whatever your ambitions—an occasional piece in the newspaper or the Nobel and Pulitzer prizes plus your portrait on postage stamps—you have to learn the ropes. You’ll never get anywhere unless you first overcome that fear of rejection.

My friend Vesta has written bushel baskets of short stories and zillions of novel pages, but shoves them all in a desk drawer. You may be like my friend—doomed to nonpublication unless you overcome this fear. To this day, she has yet to open that drawer and greet a grinning editor, who crawls out fondling a manuscript in one hand, shoving a check at her with the other.

After all, rejection is a good thing. At one point in my career I’d mailed out tons of manuscripts. Days turned into weeks, turned into months. Nothing happened. No response. One morning I awoke seized by the burning conviction that none of this was real. I was getting no response to my masterpieces because editors and publishing houses didn’t actually exist. After all, I’d never seen these people or places. How reassuring it was when those rejections started humming in. Yes, rejection reassures us that publishing is a real entity.

You ask, how can I overcome this fear? It’s quite simple, painless, and even fun once you learn the tricks. When rejection next sends you down the tubes, to the bottle, or up the creek, just try these six simple exercises:

Get rejected on purpose.

Be creative. Use Snoopy notepaper for your submissions, writing illegibly with purple ballpoint pen. Screw up on grammar. If you must type, make plenty of errors. If you’re incapable of producing flawed work, send your piece to the wrong market—say, an article on PMS to Boys’ Life.

These planned rejections will train your nervous system to react calmly when your manuscripts come home. You must prepare yourself for a life punctuated by rejection if you want to be a writer. Rejection is a normal and happy state of affairs. Practice makes perfect.

After the first ten or twelve failures, you’ll learn to laugh, greet your manuscript with a smile, and sing out, “Welcome home, sweetie! I’ve missed you!” After all, your baby probably just got lonely and decided to come home. I’m convinced most submissions return because they love their authors. They’re more comfortable in your home. The editors weren’t nearly as kind and understanding as you.

Pay a neighbor to take in your mail and lie to you.

Ernest Hemingway got his start with this method. Burley Potts, a lifelong friend, ran over every morning and grabbed Ernie’s mail. Later, at the bar, he’d casually make reference to checks he’d found in the box. “Hey, Ern! You got one from the New Yorker this morning. Big check. Way to go!” This was before Mr. H. had made a single sale as a freelancer. Before long, Ernest believed Burley’s blarney, and real checks began rolling in. Burley slumped over and died from a heart attack immediately after opening the advance check for For Whom the Bell Tolls.

Train a dog to chew up your mail.

German shepherds and dobermans can become skilled at ripping the mail right out of the carrier’s hands. After your envelopes are munched to confetti, use your imagination about what they might have been. “Wow! Bet my book contract was in that batch. If they liked that one so much, better get started on the second novel of the series.”

Pray for editors.

Never underestimate the power of prayer. You know your offerings glow with genius. Those poor editors are so overworked that they are tired, too tired to be fascinated by your works of art. Prayer will direct your manuscript to the proper editor at just the right millisecond. Boom! Your talent will be instantly recognized, the editor will triple the usual payment for your treasure, and will immediately make an appointment for you to appear on the Johnny Carson Show.

Clock editors to see who has the fastest rejection time.

This exercise is reminiscent of those relay race days in school. Determine which editors are efficient. Make graphs and write articles about speedy editors in all fields of publishing.

You may even wish to analyze rejection further and give awards to editors in various categories: Most Encouraging Rejection; Fastest or Slowest in the West, South, North, or East; Most Congenial; and Funniest Rejection Letter.

Last, but not least, when all else fails: Take a break.

Create paper clip necklaces and earrings. See how many highlighters you can stuff into an SASE. Write sonnets to your mother-in-law, your landlord, and the IRS. Continue to play with the tools and forms of your trade, but be as nonproductive as you possibly can be.

You might even consider taking a trip to Faeryland, where the sprites will entertain and convince you that your next sale is just on the other side of the rainbow. The fae are well-meaning, but sometimes mischievous, so don’t stay long or believe a word they say.

There is one danger when you become a sport at rejection. I once got a phone call from an editor at Woman’s World Magazine asking to read the manuscript I’d queried about. I got so rattled I couldn’t write for two days. I’d gotten so comfortable with rejection that I couldn’t accept the prospect of a sale.

Not to worry—the piece was happily rejected. I felt safe and secure again.

Anyway, have great fun on your quest to eradicate fear of rejection, and please watch for my next article, Overcome Your Fear of Success and Winning the Pulitzer Prize in Literature.

But don’t hold your breath. I haven’t conquered that one yet.

Cathy A. Corn spends days and nights playing with the faeries, when she isn't typing away at her latest masterpiece and sending out her works via email. She misses the rejection letters from editors as in the glorious past, but no one has time for them anymore. She has come a long way since the old days, but some things never change, and rejection is still rejection, after all. It's comforting.