The Art of Rejection

I took a punch to the gut today. Metaphorically took one, but still. Although a physical punch may have been easier to take. The punch was delivered by a literary agent who had requested the full manuscript of my book back in December.  

I’ve been on pins and needles since she requested my manuscript, secretly waiting for “the call” with an offer of representation. Which of course, led me to skip ahead to already seeing my book on shelves in stores, maybe even hitting a best seller’s list. But alas, those dreams were dashed today when I received an email from the agent telling me she was going to pass. She loved the premise of my book, believes others will as well, but considering her current client list in my particular genre...blah blah blah. Yada, yada, yada. Bottom line, it was a no. Regardless of how it was sugar-coated. 

I have high hopes for this book that I’m currently querying for, the third I’ve written. I received rave reviews from my beta readers on it (I don’t think they were just trying not to hurt my feelings). I really thought an agent would quickly snatch it up. I had more confidence querying this book than I did querying the two I wrote before it. I felt confident. Idiot. 

Getting traditionally published by one of the major publishing houses is a difficult journey. The success rate is dismal. But I’m not one to shy away from a challenge, so I continue to keep the dream alive. I could go to smaller agencies or self-publishing, but I’m going to try to hang on to the traditional publishing dream a bit longer.

I’ve convinced myself that for a writer, rejection is an art. If it is, I should be a Picasso by now. I've been sending out queries for this book since March of last year. I’ve queried 111 agents. I’ve received 76 rejections thus far. I’m waiting to hear back from 32 agents, some of which I’m sure will never respond at all. And I’ve had three requests for this book's manuscript (two fulls and one partial), which has now turned into three passes, as of today’s pass.  

In reality, querying is like stabbing yourself in the heart. Repeatedly. This is the third book I’ve queried for. The first book I queried for, I only sent out a measly 14 queries and had two full requests (requests to send them the full manuscript) that didn’t end up panning out. The second book I sent 44 queries out on and received one request for a full that was later rejected. So, if you’re following along, that means I’ve sent out 169 queries for three different books resulting in zero books getting published. Oh, did I mention I’ve been querying since 2017? I’m pretty sure I'm a glutton for punishment. Or delusional. Or maybe a combination of both. 

Prior to entering the query trenches, I didn’t handle rejection well. Even the tiniest of rejections would send me into a tailspin. Not anymore. I mean, I am truly heartbroken about today’s rejection on my full manuscript, but a normal rejection on a regular query barely phases me anymore.  It really is an art, I guess. And if so, I’m killing it. Chalking up those rejections like a gunslinger notching kills on his weapon. With each one I become a tad more resilient. And when I do get the next request for my manuscript from an agent, I’m still going to dance around my living room like a crazy woman, call my family members to share the news, throw salt over my shoulder and keep my fingers perpetually crossed. Because in that moment, I have hope. Hope for a dream I’m not yet ready to give up on.