Rejections never get any easier.
I’m usually a private person. I’d rather listen to others talk than talk about myself. But my husband told me I had a lot of experience in the writing world and I should talk about it, share my experiences with others. And maybe it will help people.
Writing is hard, hard, hard. Anyone who thinks they can pick it up and write without a few heartaches and everything is going to go oh so great, please, I invite you to do so. And tell me how it goes for you. Even the successful authors had many failures and heartache before they got to where they are now.
I started seriously when I was 18 years old. That was a long time ago, a time I’d really rather not mention. I was newly married, had a job, but always wanted to write. So I wrote. And submitted, like one time. That one rejection was enough to kill the dream for many years to come.
Keep in mind back then, internet did not exist. Everything was via mail, and very slow. You were very limited on where you could submit to. Writers’ groups were almost non-existent, especially in my small town. To admit that you wanted to be a writer was like sticking a very sharp needle in your eye and slashing a huge “A” across your chest. Shame on you for following your dream when there were more important things to do! Like make a living!
Fast forward over 10 years later, and I’m trying again, this time more seriously. I submit, receive over 100 rejections, but ebooks are barely breaking out at the time and I’m feeling like they were meant for me. Blogs are almost non-existent, and so I didn’t get into the blogging (which is supposed to be your market, start a following). So after a lot of rejections, I submit to a smaller press and get a contract. Even get some wonderful reviews and I’m feeling pretty good, but sales are low. I don’t have a following, a market, and I don’t have a huge support base. And … I have a job that keeps me from coming out of the closet. I take my “real” job very seriously and I live in a small community, so I keep to a pen name and stay silent. During that time also, my husband and I started and shut down a business.
I should also add that my job is important to me, but I often felt I would be taken less seriously if I came out as a writer. I found that is actually the case and I had every reason to feel that way. But that’s a topic for another day, and a reason many well-known authors (like Eloisa James) take on pen names.
I should also add again that rejection doesn’t mean failure. Writing is very subjective, and to actually get with a traditional publisher or an agent doesn’t mean instant success, but it also doesn’t mean you’re a failure. What one person likes, others don’t. No, what sells with the traditional pubs is what they feel is hot at the moment, but it’s not always what readers want, which is why it’s so hard to find good books on the shelves when you read a few books a week.
So I quit. Again. That’s right. For another 6 or so years I quit. I write some but don’t submit, and I don’t write near as much as I would have liked, should have done. Until I get serious. I join the RWA and find a “local” group that is over 100 miles away (that doesn’t matter anymore!) I submit, receive hundreds of more rejections, and finally have my three books submitted and contracted. I have so much more knowledge of how things are going to work, but some of that knowledge is not to get too hopeful because I know I have a long and trying road ahead of me. The only difference is, now I’m ready for that fight. I’m ready for that road.
And still, I get rejected.
It’s never easy. Writing is subjective. People will love you, hate you, or think nothing of you. They’ll judge you. Most will not understand you (especially in my day job!) But you keep going, because you know if you don’t, life will never be quite like it’s supposed to me. My ex–boss (who retired and later found out about my writing) gave me the best advice, and it sticks with me to this day: walking along the path you are supposed to be walking on is a tremendous experience.
I often question whether I am on the path I’m supposed to be. Isn’t that path supposed to get obvious with time? Shouldn’t things be easier? Doors should open a little easier, and all that. But I think the right path brings out a lot of emotions, good and bad, and nothing is ever easy. And that’s what I go through, good and bad. Right now, I’m walking through some pretty rough branches, but I’ll be out of it and the grass will be green—and I’ll be writing—once more.