How Not To Lose Your Mojo For Writing When Rejection Is Rampant

by Kris Clink

You have squeezed out every drop of heart and soul. You’ve fleshed out intriguing characters, worked and reworked the plot points, and studied every sentence until your eyes crossed. Your critique partners have praised your progress, and the editing software has ranked your manuscript right up there with Jennifer Weiner. This is your time to shine.  

With a solid query letter and the required pages, you hit send. And wait. The following writing days have you switching from your WIP to your inbox, hitting refresh, and dreaming of publishing success. Unfortunately, for a great majority of writers, initial responses are disappointing.

Since I began my Writing Table podcast, I have asked over fifty guests about their publishing journeys. For most, it’s as rocky as a hike up Kilimanjaro. For a few, their talent and patience paid off, and they landed agents instantly. Author Laurie Frankel spent three months polishing the query letter she sent to the singular agent who would sign her. Frankel’s experience is uncommon, a testament to the time she spent refining her message.

For most of us, the landscape looks quite different. We slug through countless rejections, combing them for meaning, and if we hone our craft and polish our manuscripts enough, we receive requests for pages. What happens then is anyone’s guess, as there are no guarantees of anything in this business. Before you allow rejections to crush your writing soul, let’s study what they mean. Since dashing off my first query in the fall of 2015, I have received at least one-hundred rejections which fall into one of three categories:

·      Immediate rejections

o   We will not be pursuing representation of your manuscript

o   Because of the high volume of queries I receive, I will only be responding to authors where I will be asking for more materials. If you do not hear from me, consider it a “no.”

o   Unfortunately, I'm afraid the project isn't the right fit for me.

·      Considered, but ultimately rejected

o   Thank you very much for your query, which we have read with interest. Unfortunately, the project does not seem right for this agency, and we are sorry that we cannot offer to serve as your literary agent.

o   Unfortunately, after careful consideration of your manuscript, we have determined that it does not fit our needs.

o   I'm afraid I didn't fall in love with it as I had hoped I would. 

·      Closely considered, rejected with feedback: Rare commentary provided by time-strapped agents who recognize the diamond in the rough.  

o   Thanks for sending me your heartfelt novel. I like the idea but I had a hard time with the characters. You're good with dialogue - but there's too much of it. It all sounds pretty natural but it's not all necessary. I didn't get caught up in the story. I'm sorry to not have a more positive response but I appreciate the chance and wish you the best on your search.

o   Sorry, but I’m taking a final pass on your work. As a suggestion, you could consolidate your first forty or so pages to avoid repetition.

o   There's some cleaning up to do, but it's nothing developmental, and just picking and choosing the best way to word things to fit the characters. 

Agents don’t take pleasure in rejections. There are exponentially more authors than agents, and even fewer editors poised to purchase your manuscript. This reality presents an unreal workload for agents as they screen for projects to champion. It’s not personal. An agent might enjoy reading a manuscript, but if they don’t think they can sell it, they won’t sign you. It’s that simple.

How to stay motivated when rejections come?

·      Expand your writing community through Twitter, Facebook groups, writing conferences and workshops. Writing is a solitary job, and it’s easy to feel isolated. Know you’re not alone. The writing community is especially supportive of its own, so don’t be afraid to reach out via social media. Some of my best writing pals came into my life this way, and I might have quit a long time ago if not for their support. Writing organizations and NANOWRIMO (National Novel Writing Month) introduce authors through message boards and local programming.

·      Don’t stop writing. If your butt doesn’t land in that chair, you have nothing to edit.

·      When making significant changes to a manuscript, use the “save as” feature to preserve the former version. You never know when you might want to resuscitate a discarded character or scene.

·      Rejections sting, but underneath the discomfort lies relevant feedback. Let the initial pain wear off, then search for helpful nuggets. The line you love might distract the reader from the core of the story, or a character doesn’t move the plot forward. An agent might recommend a developmental edit or only a few tweaks. Actionable feedback from an agent can be solid gold.

·      Author Camille Pagan reminds newbie authors to ask, “What would a career author do?” Face writing as if you were already the career author you hope to become. Get up and write regularly. You’re never too good to stop refining your craft. Listen to feedback. Trust your gut. Don’t give up.

Kris Clink is the author of Goodbye, Lark Lovejoy and Sissie Klein is Completely Normal, which have received praise from Bustle, Midwest Book Review, Kirkus Reviews, Women.com, Lone Star Literary, Brit + Co, Travel and Leisure Magazine, and Entertainment Weekly. Set in middle America, her novels are laced with love, heartbreak, and just enough snark to rock the boat for the relatable characters as they confront transformative challenges. She is the host of Kris Clink’s Writing Table, a podcast about books and writing, where she interviews a variety of publishing professionals and authors from Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler) to Camille Pagán.

Fandom is Love. Fandom is Family. Fandom is Representation.

by Rachelle Storm

There are two things to know about me as an author. One, I am a proud, Black woman who loves writing diverse, multiracial characters in complicated, nuanced worlds. Two, I have been an unapologetic fandom geek since well before it was popular to deem yourself as one. I love fandoms, popular culture, and embrace the truly powerful ways humans come together in fandoms when they enjoy a fictional universe. Depending on where you look up the definition, fandom is described as a “condition” or “state of being.” Fandoms are immersive and embody so much more than simply sharing a love for a fictional universe or world-building experience. In its best form, a fandom is a space of compassion, a sense of belonging, and a place to embrace diversity in ways many spaces in society still struggle with today.

As a Black woman, my love of fandom stems from the way I have been embraced and able to explore the intersectionality of my identity over the years. Whether it is at a convention or through the friends and connections I have made in online spaces, fandoms have given me the space I have always yearned for as a woman of color to explore my interests, fascinations, identity, and even my life philosophy. Fandoms have always been about more than just the fictional characters and canons we love. They are often communities of people moving toward common goals and human connections. For example, I remember how the Twilight fandom came together to pay respect to a fan that was tragically killed right before a Comic-Con event. Twilighters embraced the fan’s love of fanfiction to create a collection of stories in her honor and gave the proceeds from the donations to her family. Fandoms often contribute and donate to causes, such as Alex’s Lemonade Stand, The Go Campaign, and Saving Innocence as ways to connect their love with causes for the greater good of society.

Personally, the most impactful way a fandom has reached beyond fictional characters to connect with others is the way conversations in multiple fandoms about queer-baiting and representation led to a shift in approach for Hollywood studios. Whether it is infamously, rumored deleted scenes from Pitch Perfect 3 that left Bechloe fans irked or fans critiquing the use of Lena Luthor and Kara Danvers as queer-bait in the CW’s Supergirl, fandoms continue to demand diversity and inclusion onscreen and on the page. In the past five years alone, there has been a shift in the mainstream due to this demand. Teen Vogue’s 2021 article “On Racebending and Seeing Yourself in Fandom” and Rowan Ellis’s YouTube video “The Evolution Of Queerbaiting: From Queercoding to Queercatching” are examples of the impact fandoms have on problematic histories of discrimination in Hollywood and mainstream media. And while studios remain stubborn and discriminatory in their practices, change is on the rise due to fan reactions and the support garnered. The harsh truth is when it comes to mainstream media and popular culture, these spaces have historically been rooted in archaic tropes of identity while oppressing marginalized voices and representation. I have spent most of my life enjoying fandoms, but I will be the first to admit that when I first started engaging with novels, shows, and films where fandoms were embraced, I was painfully aware of how the spaces centered whiteness, heteronormative tropes, and stereotypical, flat marginalized characters. This is still an issue today, but there is a shift that only fandoms can cause, a shift in the mainstream.

When I wrote the first novel in the Absolution Series, I wrote with this shift in mind. I thought about how mainstream fandoms helped me when I was growing up, but also how they left me wanting more in terms of feeling seen and included in the worlds I admire so much. Absolution is unique because of its hybridity and way it plays with traditional tropes in fantasy and romance genres. The series embraces diversity with multiracial characters looking to break through the glass ceiling and shatter the expectations of what love interests and heroes in the genres of mainstream romance and fantasy can embody. The story is essentially a love letter to the YA fandoms of the past that embraced and welcomed me as a young adult, but also a universe with characters that represent more than just one type of human or ideal. Absolution is a statement as a fandom geek trying to remind us that the hero and love interest of mainstream fantasy and paranormal romances are not always predominantly white. Overall, Absolution is an epic fantasy romance that will hopefully remind readers of the YA fandoms they once belonged to and still probably do, but with more inclusion and diversity in mind.

While there are many stories out there focusing on diverse, often marginalized characters and representation, mainstream media and fandoms are still catching up to the way readers and fans choose to embrace the world. Whether it is on social media, websites, fanfiction, or fan events, fandoms continue to be a space for explorations of identity and this fandom geek is very happy to see so many outlets for readers from all types of backgrounds popping up. Fandom will always be love and family. I am just happy that love and family openly includes all of us now.

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Rachelle Storm has been a fandom geek since its earliest beginnings and never stopped. A Black scholar holding a doctoral degree in Writing Studies, she researches rhetoric, music, and popular culture. In truth, Rachelle never isn’t writing or sharing her knowledge with her fans. However, on the off-chance she isn't working or experimenting with paper and ink, you can find her at music festivals and independent bookstores. Absolution is her debut novel. The second book in the series, Absolution: Revelations, will be published July 2022. Find her online at rachellestorm.com or connect with her on social media (Instagram; TikTok; Twitter; and Facebook). Join the Absolution fandom on Facebook or Goodreads.

Breaking the Pattern: Breaking the Silence

by Nancy King

I’ve always been a storyteller yet there were stories I could not tell, others I tried to tell, but no one wanted to hear them. Editors rejected the memoir I wrote as part of my PhD thesis as “too bleak and troublingly personal.” Agents rejected Morning Light, a novel that was a fictional account of my life, as being too dark. I felt ashamed of who I was and what I’d experienced. To keep going, I created a cheerful, strong persona that helped to disconnect me from the darkness I lived with. I felt emotionally isolated, filled with shame that my life was too grim to talk about.  

After returning from a vision quest in 2016, I started writing what I thought would be my sixth novel, only what came out was nonfiction—stories of my life. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t create a character whose life was not mine. It was a struggle similar to the one years ago when every popping out story I wrote was about sexual abuse and violence despite concerted effort to write differently.  

So, I gave up and gave in, grudgingly allowing what wanted to come out to emerge. To distance myself from the emotional content I tried writing third person, past tense, naming no names, but this became impossible. There are only so many words for she, woman, her... Even worse, the writing was impassive, with no emotional content, more like journalism, which was how one of my therapists described the way I talked about my life.

I felt desperate—wanting to write—but not wanting to write what I was writing. I know the feeling when something inside me wants to come out yet I didn’t want to write about my life. I wanted to write fiction, about someone who was not me, leading a life that was not mine, with problems I had never experienced. Yet something inside was pushing me to tell the truth just as strongly as something inside was pulling me back into inner darkness. To stop the struggle, which was uncomfortably intense, I gave in. There was nothing left to do but write first person, present tense. This opened a floodgate of memories, painful, dark, emotionally upsetting. I wrote associatively, not caring about chronology, not caring about age or place. It was hard going because writing first person, present tense brought me back to the time and place of the actual experience. I could smell and taste and feel my four-year-old terror when I wrote about what happened with my uncle—experiences I could never talk about, never even let myself acknowledge, until the vision quest when I was 80 years old.  

I kept writing, but I worried. Was it too much me me me? Would what I’d written interest anyone else? I sent a few chapters to a former student, asking her if any of it mattered. She wrote back that she was going through a difficult time emotionally, that my writing was helping her feel she wasn’t alone, would I please keep writing and sending her what I’d written. That was enough to keep me going. 

When I’d written about 300 pages, I sent the material to my editor. “Nancy,” she said, “the writing is fine, but it has to be chronological. I need to read how your voice changes as you grow, how you develop as a woman. Right now, I can’t tell how old you are, where you are, with whom you’re living. It’s all a jumble and vitiates the power of your writing.”

Oy! I’m not good with computer stuff. The prospect of rearranging so many chapters was daunting. I printed out the book, manually re-organized the chapters so they were chronological, then, with the real pages in hand, I slowly rearranged what I’d written to make the chapters chronological. This allowed me to see what was missing, what needed to be tossed. I also realized the arc of the book was about healing from childhood trauma and subsequent abuse as an adult. The bad choices I’d made as an adult, that I knew at the time were bad choices, but was unable to not make them, which had always puzzled me, now made sense. At the time, I didn’t know that what I couldn’t acknowledge was shaping the choices I made. After writing the memoir I was able to fit together pieces of the puzzle of my life that had never fit before. 

Perhaps I was now able to consciously write stories about my life because of what happened toward the end of the vision quest. As part of the process, each of the participants talked about their experience in the woods. Most people focused on the difficulty of being without family, phone, books, social media, or being in a wilderness without a tent. Not wanting to talk, I waited until everyone else had spoken. When everyone’s eyes were focused on me there was no way to remain silent. The compassionate attention of the group allowed me to speak about a traumatic relationship and abortion, sparing no details, the shame I felt at not being able to say no to my parents or the man. I expected blame. What I got was lovingkindness, acceptance, caring, deep listening—something I’d never experienced before, except perhaps in a therapist’s office, but even there I was never able to speak without censoring myself.  

Looking back, I now understand that telling the story I told at the vision quest shifted my sense of myself. The change enabled me to be truthful when talking about my life. I found people who wanted to hear, were able to listen and respond with caring. They didn’t turn away or judge or condemn me. This broke the grip of the relentless shame and blame with which I’d lived, allowing me to break my lifelong pattern of silence. 

Writing Breaking the Silence, finding the wherewithal to tell the stories of my life without censoring, enabled me to break through my families’ silence, lies, denial, blame, and shame.  

A friend, who read and liked the manuscript sent it to a local press, Terra Nova Books. They offered to publish it, which surprised and pleased me. They suggested titles. I didn’t like them. I suggested titles. None of us liked them. Nothing anyone came up with seemed right. Then, the friend who sent the manuscript to Terra Nova Books suggested the title, Breaking the Silence, which immediately felt right and descriptive.

The publication of Breaking the Silence has made it possible for me to begin healing from the trauma and abuse, shame and blame with which I’ve lived all my life. Telling the story of our lives is the first step toward becoming authentically who we are.

What is your story?

Nancy King, Ph.D., is a writer and playwright whose nonfiction, plays, and novels have won numerous awards. Her novel, The Stones Speak, has been optioned for a movie. She facilitates workshops in creative expression, playmaking, and world literature in the U.S. and abroad. Living in Santa Fe, N.M., she finds inspiration in storytelling, weaving, writing, and hiking in the mountains.