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From the President's Desk December 2009 How I learned to whine and love rejection by Salley Shannon When you're a freelance writer, you've got to bounce back from "no" the way one of those inflatable, bobble head dolls rebounds from a swat. A writer friend has as her mantra: "If I don't have two ideas turned down before breakfast, I'm not doing my job." When I tell that to an audience of writers, it always gets a laugh, then nods that say, preach it, sister! You got that right. Having a story or book idea rejected is part of our business. So is the massive, heart-breaking rewrite and having a story you loved and labored over pitched into inventory limbo. Aren't you glad you're a writer, anyway? I am. Grabbing readers with a clever lede, telling a gripping story, imparting useful, even life-changing information—we, who can do these things, are fortunate people. Our craft will endure. It has for thousands of years. (Those prehistoric drawings of deer? Cave Painting for Dummies.) That said, the writer who doesn't master Rejection Skills 101 will not have a shot at writing the next millenium's Beowulf. Or he or she will keep writing, but the fun parts of being a writer gradually will be obscured under a gray scum of grim. Dear writer, don't let it happen to you. Personally, I get through serious rejection by reading clips of stories I'm proud to have written. Sometimes I must do that every morning for weeks, until I can believe again down to my toenails that yes, I'm terrific at what I do. I also turn to wise books, like The Right to Write by Julia Cameron and Pen on Fire by our own Barbara DeMarco-Barrett. Doing these things doesn't waste work time. It saves it. If you have been procrastinating more than usual, feeling a little sad, not getting queries out or a book proposal finished, think over how you are dealing—or not dealing—with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. There have been a lot of them flying about. What's your confidence-repair plan? When I click out of our ASJA online forums, where writers chat frankly, it strikes me that we're all having more days when it's tough to take "normal" rejection in stride. When we must work harder to keep "no" from feeling personal. We're all getting ideas rejected more often, because the market has thinned. My sense is that finished stories are being killed more frequently. There is less leeway in editorial budgets; we're nickeled and dimed over word counts and sidebars. Those conversations overtly are about money, and inwardly about self-worth. Editors have seen their colleagues laid off, so they hesitate to risk angering the boss by standing up for a writer. Notes about a needed rewrite can seem petulant; they are coming from tired, de-spirited editors. There's less making nice before they get down to the point, and the point can be a blunt "you screwed up" when probably, neither side is blameless. Massive staff cuts have turned editorial departments into modern-day sweatshops. Every magazine editor I know is doing the work of two or three. Every book editor I know wonders if he will have a job next month. I seldom chat with my editor friends now, but when I do, I hear exhaustion, tension, even fear in their voices. The editors we complain about, and justly so, are good people shoved into corners. At the same time, we writers all are querying new markets, pushing ourselves to find work. You know how it goes. You spend half a day honing what seems a slam-dunk idea, only to have your email disappear into the great void. The editor doesn't answer. So you send the idea out again. And again. It used to be that only editors who were strangers to me didn't respond. Those I'd worked for, or met, or who knew me by reputation, answered me, even if it was just to say "no thanks." In the past few months, editors I've done many stories with, who know the names of my children and used to share the details of their own lives, sometimes don't respond. We have a new marketplace reality. If an editor needs a specific sort of story, and your subject line seems on target, or if she knows you, your email might—might—be read. The silver lining is that, when we get no response, we can trust it isn't personal. Intellectually, anyway. I know my editor friends still like my work and that bad times never last. I know why editors aren't responding or can seem curt. Still, on the day my story gets plucked out of the November lineup and re-scheduled for March, risking a "too dated" verdict, all that logic sufficeth not. The favorite clips get put in a handy spot on my desk. I highly recommend whining, too, just don't overdo it; we have to take turns. Many times, after I've whined, another writer has told me how to angle my idea so that it might suit a publication I hadn't considered. Or just generally saved my sanity and the dinner from burning while I stared into space, convinced I'd never get another assignment. We writers are a quirky combination of fragile and tough. Writers' friendships, our unselfish way of cheering each other on, are our jumper cables. The present marketplace keeps reminding us that we need each other; not a bad thing. I am sure it's one reason ASJA is growing, and despite the economic downturn, hardly anyone is dropping out. As the publishing world evolves, both our sensitivity and our wire-walking abilities will serve freelance writers well. We know how to live without a steady paycheck and thrive. We see stories that need telling all around us. We can make words sing and spell them correctly, too. I love the way that, in the ASJA forums, when someone whines, four people will say "I'm so sorry this happened to you; try this. And this." And the fifth will toss the bucket of cold water that halts self-pity and almost shouts, "You'll be fine! You're a writer!" Salley Shannon would like to be ready for the holidays early—just once! Email her at president_at-asja.org
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