Let me preface this by saying that rejection is hard. I’m not trying to make light of the fact that for many of us, our writing is an extension of self. Rejection can feel deeply personal, even when it’s not meant to be. But for me, at this stage in my life, rejection brings me joy.
I spent the majority of my writing life as a bit of a hoarder. I was prolific, but I never let anyone read my work. I would have never even entertained the thought of submitting. The whole process seemed front with peril, and oft en complicated. I had experienced some early success with my writing and it actually kind of petrified me. The likelihood that I could maintain that success was slim; I just knew eventually people would figure out that I had no talent and it would crush me.
I’ve recently started sending out more of my poetry and short stories. I always get a a little thrill of anxiety I click submit. It’s probably the only time my anxiety can be described as thrilling, honestly. The risk is worth it. It’s usually followed by a rush of adrenaline and a swelling of pride. “I did something scary and I didn’t die!”
And the rejections started trickling in…
And you know what? It was weirdly validating. I began to realize that the responses were all polite and encouraging. They didn’t say that I was a terrible writer. Instead, they said thank you for submitting but it’s not the right fit. And that’s ok. Because as the the “no thank you”s add up I feel a kinship to Stephen King or J.K. Rowling or any number of successful writers who had to first run this obstacle course. It’s evidence of the hard work I’m putting in now, and that gives me a lot of joy. I’m proud that instead of sitting on the bench, I’m taking shots. I’m trying! And I don’t crave the rejection- I’d absolutely love to be published again, but I’m no longer petrified with fear. I’m moving in the right direction and I think that should be celebrated!
Kelly Moore Writes 