Dealing with rejection by agents and editors is one of the worst parts of being a writer, and no matter how diligently you work to develop a thicker skin, toughening up is a slow process. As I collected my hundreds (yes, hundreds) of rejections along the path to publication — and then, as an overachiever, continued to collect a few after that — I developed a coping strategy that actually helped. I hope it helps you, too.
It's a quirk of psychology that a single negative comment will hit us harder than a bundle of positive ones. This phenomenon is called negativity bias, and it's hard-wired: after all, your ancestors survived by paying closer attention to threats than to cheery remarks, and they passed that inclination on to you.
Even though I understand this (and love evolutionary psychology), I'm still wildly irritated by the fact that I can read ten reviews full of starry-eyed praise for my work and yet find my mind lingering for days on the single review that said, "This book sucked."
The real takeaway there is "don't read your reviews," but back to that coping strategy. Here are four emotional tools to help manage the inevitable rejections that come with a nascent — or even advanced — writing career:
First and most importantly, cleanse your vocabulary of the phrase "I got rejected." You did not get rejected. Your work did. I know writing feels very personal, and I'm among the many writers who feel like deep and vulnerable parts of me are woven into my writing. But any given piece of your work is not you, and if you don't distinguish between the two — well, that way lies madness.
Keep an open spot on your bookshelf where your published book will go. In fact, choose which two books you'd like it to sit between, and keep that spot open all the time. If you like, you can think of this as a manifestation technique, but you can also see it simply as a necessary step, like setting the table for a guest who is coming to dinner. You're preparing for your work to be out in the world, right? So make room for it.
For the querying stage, prepare yourself emotionally for the long haul, not for quick success. Think of it as like packing for a camping trip, except instead of provisions, you're ensuring you've got the necessary stock of emotional resources to get through the journey. Most writers, including myself initially, prepare as if they're heading out for a long weekend at their local park, when often, it's more like a trek across the Great Plains to Oregon Territory. "I got fifteen rejections," they'll say, "and I got fed up." Here's a bit of perspective: for The Kingdom of Childhood, I collected 93 rejections before I got an agent. Two agencies rejected it twice: once on a revise-and-resubmit, another just for the fun of it, I guess. And that was the third book I'd queried. I already had well over a hundred rejections under my belt for the other two. But once an agent accepted it, she got me a three-book deal with a major publisher. I had a banner over the main stairs at an industry conference and my book on sale at Target, Costco, and Hudson News. If I'd given up after 15, or 50, or even 90 rejections, that never would have been my life. So, as you begin to receive rejections, pace yourself. Take them in stride — think of them as rejection aperitifs, or little rejection samples you're picking up as you work the room laying the groundwork for your career (networking, learning about marketing, etc.). You can even do what I did and save them in a folder to print out, cut into squares, and laminate for use as coasters at your book release party. I'm not kidding. I did that.
That brings me to my final point: the vast majority of successful writers pass through a crucible of rejection on the way to success. They muscle through it to arrive at the moment when they're chatting and laughing with other famous writers over wine in the hotel lounge after a successful panel discussion at a writers' conference. But then, there will be the one guy who didn't, and instead near-magically ascended to publication, often with mind-boggling success. There is no one more ill-prepared for publication than that guy. Because no matter how good your book is, some readers and reviewers will be merciles. And suddenly, those negative remarks aren't trickling in at a rate of five or six a month, but thirty a day. To someone who has never built up a callus to "I'm not impressed by your work" comments, those one-star reviews hit like antiaircraft fire. (See "negativity bias," above.) And because they're still mentally living in a world where people don't face gutting comments from strangers every day (unlike most writers, who have been there so long that their cottages have ivy around the windows and thriving asparagus patches in the garden), they make wounded complaints, alternating between nonplussed and vicious, and expect a lot of sympathy. It's a drag, and not just because most authors are accustomed to rejection by professionals before the readers ever get their turn at the buffet, but because these authors have often already achieved a level of success that few ever will. Critical praise, wealth from sales, etc. But they can't appreciate it, because their sudden introduction to unimpressed readers makes the experience of success feel pretty awful. The takeaway: Developing that thick skin now is preparing you to genuinely enjoy your success later.
One of my most successful motivational strategies is to tell myself, "2026 Rebecca will be so glad that 2024 Rebecca did this thing." (For some reason, saying "future me" feels too vague — I need actual dates.) The version of you that you'll arrive at a year or two from now will so appreciate the work you're putting in right now. That means the work to build your career and the emotional work of not getting discouraged.
So keep at it. And be sure to make space on your bookshelf. You'll need it.
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