In short, rejections mean this: "We didn't [blank] your story enough to accept it."
What changes for each journal, each editor, each journal's submissions reader is what word fills that blank. For me, at SmokeLong Quarterly, where I serve as part of the editorial staff, that word is love, but it's not the word for every journal I imagine. My minimalist nature envisions that [blank] as a single word for each, though surely it might be a phrase, as in "We didn't [think our readers would love] your story," and that's fine. I do think that love, or at least like, mostly fills in that blank. At least, that's what I choose to believe, and the world is, it has been said, what we choose to believe it to be.
Each rejection says to me, "We didn't love your story enough." The danger for writers is replacing the [your story] with [you], so that each rejection says, "We didn't love you enough." That has never been the case for me as part of an editorial staff.
I wonder a lot about the essential desire to love stories, wonder what it would mean to accept the stories I kinda-liked, liked okay, liked a lot, and so on. Or it have nothing to do with
like or
love, but with craft, risk, the surprise of language, my respect of the overwhelming talent, and so on. Of course, all that might be part of why I love or don't love a story, so I'm pretty sure it's all there in some measure. I am often troubled about what it means to ask writers to write stories that I love, rather than what I imagine others might love, or rather than some other overriding quality of the story. That of course is why SLQ has a staff of readers, each one's strong opinion with the power to say "yes" to a story no matter what the others might feel. But still it's an unsettling thing.
As an editor/submissions reader, I sometimes feel a kind of overwhelming desire to say sorry to the stories I didn't love. I wanted to love them. That I didn't and someone else did is always cool, because (and I wonder often if I am wrong about this) as a writer, I wouldn't want my stories in place where they weren't loved, and that leads me to wonder if an editorial staff's love means more to me than readers' love. I would hate to think it does. The journal feels like home, the readers visitors to this home, and I believe (or at least tell myself) that it's great for the story to be in a home where it is loved and visited (now and then) by loved ones. I know that it won't always find love with visitors, but what in the world does? And strong dislike is a strong feeling, and why would I want only to evoke love from readers? (Because I've got issues, that's why!)
We didn't love it, the rejections say, and some of them hint at the possibility of this story finding that love elsewhere.
So many of these notes seem to want love for the story, for it to find its place in the world. The rejection isn't something anyone needs to apologize for I realize. Who can say (in an any exact way) why love arises or doesn't arise within us? I Of all things rejections are and aren't, I am most certain about this: if someone loved it, it would be in that journal. Maybe the "right person" needs to love it, and that confuses things. And maybe someone who doesn't like me (& I'm certain they are out there) won't be able to find love for something I've written, and that too confuses things. But whether the love wasn't in the right place or was incapable of being produced no matter what I'd written, I believe love plays a vital role in that decision to accept or reject.
I notice I always write back after being accepted with "I'm so glad you liked it." It's true, and I'm too scared and afraid of appearing presumptuous to say, "So glad you loved it."
It's a wondrous thing—isn't it?—when we can think of our story as evoking such a thing in a stranger, and that evoked feeling matters so much more and feels so much more meaningful and real than all the times it doesn't evoke this feeling or sense.
So here's the message to you from the Wednesday Therapy Session:
We all, I'm certain, read your story hoping it will matter to us, wanting to love it. And yes, of course, we are likely to transfer that love of story to love of writer to love of you. That, too, confuses things, the way acceptances often lead to our loving you (and your story), while rejections mean our not loving your story (but have nothing to do with our love of you).
Oh, how clear I wanted to make this post. I often wonder how crazy I am for thinking such things.
What, pray tell, do rejections mean to you?
Note: These thoughts in no way represent the opinions of SmokeLong Quarterly, its publisher or staff.
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 10:49 AM
very interesting.
I always think rejections mean I didn't do a good enough job of nurturing the story: e.g., as the creator (parent) of the story I sent it out too soon, before it was ready to stand on its own--never mind fly!--when it was still crawling or maybe slumping in it's infant seat, lolling its head.
now some stories will never grow up. they were born defective, alas, even perhaps repugnant to some, and though I as a parent will always love those stories unconditionally, well, they just can't make it in the world.
but most stories can, I think, at the right time. they may not get into the ivy league (the new yorker?) but certainly there are some local universities out there who will welcome them.
am I taking this conceit too far?
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 10:51 AM
case in point:
I sent that comment before proofreading.
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 10:55 AM
fartnoise
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 10:59 AM
Rejection is part of it. It's like learning to talk to women. They are not all going to love you, and by you I mean me. Deal with it and keep looking for the one that thinks you're the shit.
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 11:17 AM
this would all be well & good if so many journals weren't all loving the same blond haired blue eyed perfect smile tiny waist great tits same same sameness stories.
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 11:59 AM
rob, you're the shit.
just know that.
proceed as planned.
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 12:59 PM
I actually don't my personal rejections quite as much because at least it feels like a person actually read my story. But form rejections take a little piece of my soul away. Especially when accompanied by a form to subscribe to the journal. :-(
I work in Media Relations, where my press releases and pitches get rejected all the time, too. (I live in a world of rejections.) And I've heard people say that there's always one perfect place for a story. It may not be the NY Times, but somewhere someone will think the story is worth writing about and you just have to find it. So I guess I think that about my fiction, too. When I get a rejection, I usually try to send something out that day to keep the cycle going....
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 2:41 PM
When I was an associate editor I sometimes really liked a story, thought the writer was talented, but the story just didn't "click" so I voted no. Then there were times I couldn't find anything positive about a story so I sent a form. As I writer I always hope for the nice kind of rejection, the one with a little handwritten "Almost!" on the slip. I do feel a twinge of disappointed over form letters or terse emails (unless they are from a biggie where forms are expected). In the end rejections just mean that one person at one venue didn't like/love/click with that one particular story. Then I decide if the story needs revision or just belongs somewhere else.
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 3:46 PM
I relate to Heather's conclusion about using rejections to either rethink venue, revise or (I would add) shelf. When I first began submitting, I took rejections very personally. Given time and my recent experience as an editor, I realize that fit for the journal and for the issue is very important and that subjectivity with regard to "love" of a story is a great inducement to keep submitting if you believe the story is worthy of love.
I realized I had matured a lot as a writer when I continued to submit a story that was rejected eight times. I loved it and was gratified when it was accepted and even expressly and publicly loved on the ninth try.
I'll admit I still feel personally validated with acceptances and somewhat personally deflated with rejections. It's difficult not to: Writing is a very personal pursuit. But I find myself better at assessing my own work and more graciously accepting, appreciating and utilizing any feedback that accompanies rejections.
I enjoyed this post a lot! Thanks for the opportunity to comment.
posted on 5 Aug 2009, 5:52 PM
Yesterday I received one of those rejections where the editor said she enjoyed my article and hoped I'd submit again. It truly made my day! Such is the writing life...
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 2:27 AM
Rejection can come in both positive and negative outcome. But majority of the people take it in a negative way. Rejection can break a writer's heart. Especially if it is well thought then it turns out that the reader didn't like or love the craft.But for those who are optimistic, they take the rejection a good judgment. A key for improvement. Which is I think a good thing to do when rejection occurs. This post is very interesting and true. Good job.
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 5:38 AM
Hey, Maryanne. I like the unconceited nature of the conceit. What's hard for me is knowing which stories need another year of prep school and exactly which "university" to send each one to.
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 5:39 AM
Hmmm. In my world, fartnoise is a sign of deep satisfaction, but my guess is that it means something different here.
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 5:40 AM
Hey Robb, I think we have a similar idea here about stories eventually finding love in all the right places, although you've presented that idea far more colorfully than I.
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 5:41 AM
Hey, lorianne. I've not noticed that sameness of stories myself. Have you found any places that seem more likely to veer from this "sameness" in their acceptances?
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 5:44 AM
Tara, well that must be hard if form rejections "take a little pice of [your] soul away." How do you find the heart (and soul) to keep sending pieces out? That idea that a personal reply confirms that "a person actually read [your] story" is very interesting. Because SLQ respond so quickly to submissions, I do think there is a sense, sometimes, that we may not be giving each piece the kind of reading it deserves. We do (give each piece a complete, careful reading), and I think a personal reply can help ensure writers that we are taking their work seriously and giving each piece our full attention (which we are).
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 5:48 AM
Heather,
That sense of "clicking" is important, and your point about "terse email" rejections is well-taken. That decision about what to make of a rejection—whether a story should be sent out again or revised—is very hard to make. How do you decide? Is it after a set number of rejections?
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 5:53 AM
Lauren. Welcome Back!
That subjectivity about a piece is definitely something I had to learn, and learned as you did, by being on the editorial side. I also think that, when determining a story's "worth" by evaluating the number of rejections it has gotten, one has to take into consideration the places it's being sent and their acceptance rates. A story could get rejected fifty, a hundred times if it's being sent to those journals with a 2%, 1%, or even lower acceptance rate.
posted on 6 Aug 2009, 5:54 AM
Julie,
I do so love those notes of encouragement.
posted on 11 Aug 2009, 8:47 PM
I've thought for a little while now that editors might do authors a service by—if not writing personal rejections (which can be too time consuming)—using multiple forms.
Sometimes it's a matter of love. Others, the story isn't tight enough, too much fat. Still others, no character. Others, no plot. Sometimes we can't put our finger on why we do or do not love a story, but usually there's a hint we could give the author, however imperfect it may be.
It wouldn't take much longer to pick the stock reason to paste-in, I would think. Thoughts?
posted on 13 Aug 2009, 9:23 AM
I've seen a kind of checklist for form rejections with a number of choices available. The question for me, as a writer, is what I should make of any kind of rejection/feedback, whether it come from workshops, writing groups, editors, and so on. In other words, even if an editor says that "it was close but for the ending that fell kind of flat," I'm not sure what that means for me, if it means that ending works or doesn't work. One can't even be quite sure of a consensus from readers, especially if the work has an element of risk to it. All quite tricky.
posted on 13 Aug 2009, 7:28 PM
Absolutely—I think in most cases feedback (even well-intentioned feedback) is often not particularly useful in terms of improving a piece of writing.
The reason I like the idea of form-checklists is that, coming from an editor, it gives a writer a better idea of what the editor's preferences might be and what pieces in the future may suit them. Saying "it doesn't suit our needs at this time," is unfortunately useless to a writer. But even something as simple as, "I liked it but it didn't quite make the cut" or "I'm not really digging the writing style of this" would mean so much more. There's a certain kind of metaphorical wall that the standard form builds between rejected writers and editors, and I'd like to think that would help break it down a bit without being an inconvenience.
posted on 13 Aug 2009, 10:09 PM
That's a good point, Ben, one I hadn't thought of, that getting "a better idea of what the editor's preferences might be."