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Experiencing rejection, notably when it recurs often, is far from pleasant. Someone is turning you down, giving a firm “Not interested.” Working in writing, I am well acquainted with setbacks. I started proposing manuscripts half a century past, upon finishing university. From that point, I have had two novels turned down, along with book ideas and many pieces. In the last two decades, concentrating on personal essays, the rejections have only increased. On average, I receive a rejection multiple times weekly—amounting to in excess of 100 each year. Overall, denials in my profession number in the thousands. At this point, I might as well have a advanced degree in handling no’s.

However, is this a complaining outburst? Far from it. Since, finally, at the age of 73, I have embraced being turned down.

In What Way Have I Managed It?

A bit of background: Now, nearly each individual and their distant cousin has said no. I haven’t counted my acceptance statistics—it would be deeply dispiriting.

A case in point: lately, an editor rejected 20 submissions consecutively before saying yes to one. A few years ago, at least 50 publishing houses vetoed my book idea before someone approved it. Subsequently, 25 agents passed on a project. A particular editor requested that I send my work only once a month.

The Steps of Rejection

In my 20s, all rejections hurt. I felt attacked. It seemed like my writing being rejected, but me as a person.

As soon as a piece was rejected, I would start the “seven stages of rejection”:

• First, surprise. Why did this occur? Why would these people be overlook my talent?
• Second, denial. Surely you’ve rejected the incorrect submission? Perhaps it’s an administrative error.
• Then, rejection of the rejection. What can they know? Who made you to decide on my work? It’s nonsense and your publication is subpar. I reject your rejection.
• Fourth, anger at the rejecters, then self-blame. Why do I put myself through this? Could I be a glutton for punishment?
• Subsequently, negotiating (preferably mixed with optimism). What does it require you to acknowledge me as a once-in-a-generation talent?
• Sixth, depression. I’m no good. Worse, I’ll never be successful.

This continued for decades.

Great Examples

Naturally, I was in excellent fellowship. Tales of creators whose manuscripts was initially declined are plentiful. The author of Moby-Dick. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The writer of Dubliners. Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita. Joseph Heller’s Catch-22. Virtually all writer of repute was originally turned down. Since they did overcome rejection, then maybe I could, too. The basketball legend was not selected for his high school basketball team. The majority of American leaders over the last 60 years had previously lost elections. The actor-writer claims that his Rocky screenplay and bid to star were declined numerous times. He said rejection as an alarm to rouse me and get going, not backing down,” he remarked.

The Seventh Stage

Later, upon arriving at my 60s and 70s, I reached the last step of setback. Peace. Currently, I more clearly see the various causes why someone says no. To begin with, an editor may have just published a like work, or have something in the pipeline, or be thinking about a similar topic for another contributor.

Alternatively, more discouragingly, my pitch is uninteresting. Or maybe the evaluator believes I don’t have the experience or reputation to be suitable. Or is no longer in the business for the wares I am submitting. Or didn’t focus and reviewed my work hastily to see its abundant merits.

Go ahead call it an awakening. Everything can be rejected, and for numerous reasons, and there is pretty much nothing you can do about it. Many reasons for denial are forever beyond your control.

Within Control

Some aspects are under your control. Admittedly, my ideas and work may occasionally be poorly thought out. They may lack relevance and appeal, or the message I am attempting to convey is not compelling enough. Alternatively I’m being flagrantly unoriginal. Maybe something about my writing style, notably dashes, was annoying.

The key is that, in spite of all my years of exertion and setbacks, I have managed to get recognized. I’ve written several titles—the initial one when I was in my fifties, my second, a personal story, at older—and more than a thousand pieces. These works have featured in magazines large and small, in regional, worldwide platforms. My first op-ed appeared in my twenties—and I have now written to that publication for half a century.

Yet, no bestsellers, no book signings at major stores, no features on talk shows, no Ted Talks, no prizes, no Pulitzers, no international recognition, and no medal. But I can more readily handle no at 73, because my, humble successes have eased the jolts of my setbacks. I can choose to be philosophical about it all at this point.

Instructive Setbacks

Denial can be educational, but only if you heed what it’s indicating. Or else, you will probably just keep taking rejection all wrong. So what lessons have I acquired?

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