Writing requires a certain amount of masochism.
Even when you’re doing it all right, and technically doing well – your life is at least 95% hearing ‘no.’
I wonder sometimes if we’d all be much better humans if we were forced to fail that consistently. I confess, I don’t always take it elegantly. I do try, but I can also spiral into levels of melodrama Lestat himself would be ashamed of.
I always come back to that story about Hans Christian Andersen flopping face-down onto Charles Dickens’ lawn, refusing to leave. Dickens, the unwilling host, just anxiously wringing his hands like ‘Can you have your tantrum literally anywhere else?”
I can relate. I’m a lawn-flopper.
I try to remember writing requires some level of professionalism, though as a rule, you’re gift-wrapping your unfiltered thoughts, lobbing them at strangers and trying not to wince.
It’s brutal.
And yet, I get up, every morning, and keep going.
For example, this week I received 4 rejections in one day. Across multiple genres. That was a new all-time low.
I have previously experienced the slow-drip version of this, one rejection a day for a five-day streak. I assure you, both are awful in their own special way.
But the thing I keep coming back to, even when friends and family side-eye my lemming-like need to seek brutal rejection is this:
Technically, I’m still getting more yeses than I should be. By far.
Every ‘no’ hits harder, but when I do hear yes? Those beautiful, rare words of praise? The ones that actually get it? There’s nothing like it.
I’m not known for my smiles, it’s true.
Somewhere, there’s a picture of elementary school me, dressed in a black velvet dress with a white lace collar (thanks 1990s) and utterly bereft of a smile. In my defense, the photographer didn’t say ‘smile’ so I took it as optional.
However, when I hear anything that remotely sounds like ‘I liked your story/poem/novel’ I start grinning like a drunk. It’s rather unsettling.
So I guess that’s why I keep opening that door. I keep tossing work out there like it doesn’t matter. Because most times you get punched in the nose. But sometimes… someone hands you a flower.
Grudgingly—SMH
