I hit the ominous send button.
My query letters, for better or worse, are out there in the world.
Now I wait, the fate of my success, my dreams, my identity as a writer in invisible hands.
Uh, ok, maybe the stakes aren’t that high. I’m not going to give up writing if I don’t get the answers I want. Outside validation isn’t what makes you a writer. But my hopes of getting published through traditional publishing means certainly are.
Understandably, agents take time before they reply–if they reply. That, too, is understandable. They can get through many more queries if they don’t have to hit their auto-reply button every time they want to pass on a project. Considering the auto-reply messages are impersonal, there’s little benefit to the writer–no feedback, critique, suggestions for improvements or reasons why the query wasn’t the right “fit” for the agent.
But still, the waiting… The not knowing, the holding out of (false?) hope…
Which is why I say yay (?) to my first rejection. The agent, as promised on her twitter feed, replied within 24 hours (shockingly fast in this business). Can’t say I liked that the answer was “no”, but she personalized her response. Said I have a great “voice” for my character and she really liked the concept. That goes a long way, because so many literary agents are looking for the intangible “voice”. She passed on my novel because she didn’t fall in love with it–another phrase many agents use to talk about their inherent decision-making process. I get it, I do, even if I am disappointed.
But, yes, let’s talk about disappointment. Writing and rejection go hand-in-hand. I know that. Everyone knows that. LitRejections.com, a popular writing website, lists dozens of bestsellers which where once (or hundreds of times) rejected before fundamentally altering the publishing landscape. J.K. Rowling’s first Harry Potter book was famously rejected by publishers 12 times before it was picked up. Agatha Christie, whose book sales are worth $2 billion and who is outsold only be Shakespeare, coped with five years of rejection. Louis L’Amour received 200 rejections before Bantam took a chance on him. Kathryn Stockett’s worldwide bestseller, The Help, was rejected 60 times. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s, The Great Gatsby, the American classic which is a staple in high school English classrooms, was initially rejected.
So I’m in good company. (Like how I compared myself to the great and successful writers? Positive thinking and all that…)
But here’s the thing: they made it. They’re published. They’re on the other side. Of course they felt as I do now–will it ever happen to me? But they know the answer.
I’m still waiting…
And I don’t care what all the inspirational, keep-your-chin-up advice-givers say: rejection is personal. I don’t mean the agents who turn down my work hate me. Of course they can’t accept everything that crosses their desk–nor should they. I don’t even mean they hate my work–like the first agent to reply. She was professional, friendly and encouraging.
But still, she didn’t choose me.
Imagine you’re a new student and you want to go to the school dance. You could go alone (self-publishing), but that won’t make it easier to meet people, to have people get to know who you are. Ideally, you need someone to introduce you around. So you decide you need a date. You learn a little bit about a whole bunch of different people–people you think (you hope) share similar interests. And then you put yourself out there.
Hi, we’re in biology class together. Want to go to the dance with me? Hi, I saw your field hockey game; you were great. Want to go to the dance with me? Hi, I heard you in the hall say you like cotton candy–that’s my favourite, too! Want to go to the dance with me?
Is it any surprise that the biology partner, field hockey player and cavity-laden cotton candy kid would size you up in a flicker of an instant, then say, uh… no… Even if they were polite about it: “Sorry, I’m going with someone else” or “You’re cute, but not my type,” or, “I’m not interested–it’s not because of you, it’s because of me”, that fact remains you’ve still been rejected. You’re still not going to the dance with someone else.
So, yeah, I get why my work may not be the right fit for an agent, or maybe that I need to improve it–but that’s all logical.
But inside, is the small little voice: why not me?
Here’s hoping I won’t have to ask that question for too long.