E.S. Raye

As some of my regular readers may know, I’ve set a goal for myself to hit 100 story rejections before the end of the year.

This goal isn’t to simply send out garbage to get those rejections, but is an attempt to accept that a certain amount of success in this effort comes from the volume of work I put out into the world. I believe that not every story, nor every author, is right for every reader, and so the more eyes I get my work in front of, the more likely I’ll be to find my audience.

Well, this past week I hit the halfway mark of my goal; 50 rejections before the midpoint of the year (nevermind I already had several rejections before the year started–the goal is to reach 100, and if I do it, maybe next year’s goal will be to get 100 in a year).

So far, I’ve tried to be pragmatic about the rejections. Whenever I get one, I don’t focus on the person behind the rejection. Instead, I try focusing on the need to move on to the next. But I’ll admit, #50 was a bit harder for me to swallow.

My 50th rejection came from a science fiction and fantasy magazine I have been submitting to for quite a while now. In fact, a quick look at my records shows I’ve submitted six different stories to them over the course of the last two years. And every rejection letter has been exactly the same. Perfectly verbatim, with the exception of the proper title for each given story.

And that doesn’t upset me. I get it. This is a large, well-established magazine that likely receives hundreds, if not thousands, of story submissions every month. Writing unique rejection letters for them all is wildly unrealistic. And honestly, I appreciate a form rejection more than no response at all, which unfortunately happens more often than it should.

But this time, the letter was different.

Most of the time, the letters use the collective “us.” As in, “Thank you for letting us read…” But this time, it was “me.” “Thank you for letting me see…”

Again, the letters always wish me luck in placing the rejected story elsewhere. But this time, instead of that well-wish, I was complemented on the story (“nicely done”), and was told the editor writing who signed this rejection “looked forward” to my “next submission.” But ultimately, my story “wasn’t right” for them.

The utter alien-ness of this letter threw me for a loop. Why is it different from the others I had received from this magazine? Did this story get further along in the process than before? Or have they just changed their form rejection letter?

There’s really no way to know until I submit a new story (or three), and see what the response is.

But the strangeness impacted my mood and set me up for a fall with the “wasn’t right” aspect. The story is hard, classic science fiction, dealing with the morality of technology and its misuse. The magazine is decades old, and known for that exact subject.

If the story made it deeper into the submission process, how can it also be simply “not right?” Those two things felt completely at odds with one another.

This one-two punch was crushing.

I was upset, frustrated, and for once, thinking a lot about the person behind that rejection letter.

I gave myself a day or two to feel angry. To feel rejected. And then my mind wandered back to the “looking forward to your next submission” portion of the letter.

I get a lot of form rejections, and in my experience, most don’t include that. I’ve heard it said (don’t ask me where) that editors only give encouragement like this when they mean it.

So, I’m choosing to believe that. I’m choosing to believe that the story is “nicely done” and all it needs to get published is my continued determination. So, out it goes again, to the next magazine on my list. And, after a little editing, I’ve already got my next submission to this magazine lined up.

If you find yourself deep in the submission trenches, don’t give up! It can be tough to not take it personally, to get bogged down, and to want to avoid the rejections. But the only way to success is through the muck. Editors stand in for the eyes of their audiences. They only want content they know their audiences will appreciate.

So, a rejection isn’t necessarily commentary on your writing ability. Rather, it’s simply a judgment that that publication’s readers aren’t the right audience for the story you’re trying to tell.

The only way to find that audience is to keep trying.

Good luck to you, and here’s to 50 more rejections!