Rejection—it’s a word that every writer knows all too well. But understanding its inevitability doesn't always soften the blow. When I first started submitting my poetry and stories, the idea alone was enough to set my heart racing. What if they don’t like it? What if they do? The possibilities were as daunting as they were thrilling.
My journey into the world of literary submissions started with a mix of naive excitement and trepidation. A couple early successes gave me a false sense of safety.The first rejection was easy to brush off—a simple "not for us" that stung for a moment, then faded into determination. "Can't win 'em all," I reassured myself with a shrug and a smile. But as the rejections piled up, second, third, fourth... they began to sting a little more each time. By the sixth and seventh, it felt like each "no" was a tiny, insistent pinch reminding me of my audacity to dream.
Then came the latest rejection, and oh, was it a masterpiece in its own right. This one managed to:
Spell my name wrong,
Critique my vocabulary for not being 'accessible' enough, and
Inform me that the goal of poetry is to not sound "poem-y."
All I could do was laugh. The absurdity of it—the mismatch between the feedback and everything I hold true about poetry—struck a chord. It reminded me that poetry, like all art, is deeply subjective. What sings to one person might fall flat to another. Everyone has their own tastes, their own expectations, and their own interpretations. You can't please everyone, and trying to do so would drain all the color from your work. It would make it something it's not—something it was never meant to be.
So, I write for myself. I write because I have stories that bubble up from within, demanding to be told. I write because there are things I need to say, emotions I need to express, and worlds I need to explore. The act of writing is a personal triumph, regardless of its reception.
With each rejection, I've learned to find a balance between embracing feedback and staying true to my voice. It's a dance as delicate as it is necessary, helping me to grow not just as a writer, but as a person who believes in the value of her own words.
To my fellow writers facing the daunting inbox of doom, remember: rejection is just another step in our journey. It's a sign that we're out there, trying, failing, and most importantly, learning. One day, we might look back and thank those rejections for helping us to find our true paths—paths that are authentically ours, forged by persistence, resilience, and a good dose of humor.
Embrace your unique voice, keep writing what matters to you, and let the rejections roll off like water on a duck's back. After all, every "no" brings us one step closer to a "yes" that truly resonates with who we are and what we aspire to create.