Rejection Isn't Always a Bad Thing

I'm no stranger to rejection. Who is? Rejection comes in many forms throughout our lives, doesn't it? Some instances hurt more than others. As a teenager, I sang with a group of girls, traveling to perform in a tri-state area. Yet, when I tried out for the Glee Club at my high school, I was rejected by the choral teacher. I was more amused than hurt. Go figure.

Other rejections have nearly cleaved my soul in two--like when my ex-husband had an affair and a child with another woman. Oh yeah, that was probably the darkest period of my life. My emotional healing took years...years.

On the other hand, if I were still married to the man, I wouldn't have my college degree or my beloved Calvin or my writing career. So, in this case, his rejection wasn't a bad thing. In fact, I nearly drop to my knees in gratitude for his betrayal. I mean, I still wish him ingrown toenails and fungus of his "mungus." Hey, I've never professed to being an angel.

As a writer, I have to be prepared for rejection. It's part of my "writerly" journey. Without a doubt, it's probably one of the rougher parts. Rejections hurt. They wound. There's no other way to put it. If more than one editor

rejects, then I have to be intelligent about the "no's" and examine my project more closely. You know, lay aside my "woe is me" feelings and put on my writer's cap. Is my storyline silly? Are my characters immature or flat? Is my conflict weak? Properly used, a rejection can prompt a writer to make a story stronger.

OR...it can lead to something else.

Around the end of January an editor at Carina Press put out a call for Christmas novellas. She listed the parameters and tropes she wanted the stories to contain. I got a bright idea to give it a try. My current WIP had hit a major wall, so jumping into another project would give my mind a rest from banging on that darn wall. The timing seemed perfect. Besides, I'd promised my agent I'd allow her to start shopping me out again. All of my titles are with The Wild Rose Press and, although I love them, Dawn wanted me to branch out, to spread my wings a little. So, I worked like a fool to write this novella and meet the editor's end of March submission deadline. My agent mailed it in a couple days prior to the cut-off date, and we began the waiting process.

Before long, we heard Santa Wore Leathers was rejected.

Well, poop!

I told Dawn to send it back and I'd do some rewrites. She insisted she'd "shop it out" to some other publishers. I figured we'd missed most publishers' holiday deadlines. Dawn, however, wouldn't be deterred. That's what agents do. They push ahead when ninnies, like me, would pull back and lick our wounds.

A couple more rejections rolled in, and I was mentally rewriting some scenes for when I convinced Dawn to let me have it back.

Then, the oddest thing happened. An editor at Random House emailed Dawn. She'd read Santa Wore Leathers and loved it, but Random House had already contracted their holiday stories for the year. So she had to pass on the novella. Did I have anything else, she asked. She loved my writing. Dawn told her I had a Scottish paranormal romance in which the first chapter took third in the Golden Acorn contest. The editor emailed back right away, asking for the first three chapters and a synopsis. Dawn called to fill me in on what she and the editor had decided, and I freaked. I hadn't worked on it in months. I only had 28,000 words written on a projected 80,000 word book. "Well, girl, you better get to writing, because we have a Big Six editor interested in it." Long story short: I have a contract with Random House with options on three more in the bear-shifter series.

Meanwhile, Crimson Romance offered on my Christmas novella. Then, two days later, HarperCollins offered, as well. Santa Wore Leathers is now contracted with HarperCollins' new romantic eBook imprint, HarperImpulse. Imagine that! But, wait, there's more. On Thursday, another Big Six publisher contacted Dawn, wanting to offer on Santa Wore Leathers, but we'd already signed the contract with HarperImpulse. The editor, who was late to the dance, asked to see anything else I wrote in the future.

So, out of a rejection for a novella came a book contract with an advance and options, a contract for the novella and keen interest from a third big publisher. Who would have thought?

Rejection is not always a bad thing. Giving up is. Had I been doing this on my own, I'd have pulled back, thrown up my hands and said, "See, I'm not good enough." But Dawn kept pushing. I guess that's what we need to do more in life--at least I do. We need to keep forging ahead and never, ever give up...NEVER!

A LESSON IN PERSERVERANCE

The Help was turned down by 60 agents before one took pity on Kathryn Stockett, a very determined author with a powerful passion for her story. Bless Kathryn's stubborn heart; she never gave up.

This is a timely reminder for me as I wait for word on two projects--a short story, Waiting on a Dream, written specifically for a submisisons call, and a novel, Mona Lisa's Room, a romantic suspense set in France.

These two elements--rejections and waiting--are part and parcel of a writer's life.

A writer friend of mine recieved word from a large publisher on June 2nd that they loved her book and were moving forward with it to the next committee. She hasn't heard a word since. Nor has her agent after repeated attemps to find out. So, this delightful lady waits-- lurking in the land of publishing limbo.

Before The Help was published, work was already underway for the movie. Yes, the publishing world does move at a snail's pace.


Have you seen the movie yet? Please do. Calvin and I saw it the day it opened here in Lynchbug. For him, it was a visit back to his childhood. For me, it was an education. By the applause that erupted at movie's end, for others in the theater, it was a delight.

Over the years, Calvin and I have shared memories of our childhood. He grew up in the segregated south and I was raised on a farm in Pennsylvania. Early in the mornings, he'd see black men and women, dressed in various uniforms, walking down the streets headed for the bus stop. My early morning activities were herding the cows into the barn for milking and filling their feed troughs with grain. Our formative lives were vastly different.

Yet, one ominous, dark thread of a nasty element in society was woven through both of our lives.

As a black boy he could not lay money into the hand of a white cashier. That white person would not welcome nor accept the touch of black skin against his or hers. As a black teen, working in a white owned store, he could not drink from the employees' water fountain nor use the employees' restroom. This resulted in many a mad dash for home over his lunch break or at day's end.

For me, it was the confusion of being jerked across the street by my good Christian mother before she'd lower herself to walk past a black man. Or watching her participate in fund drives to help "poor little African children" when she wouldn't tip the black woman who cleaned the public restrooms along Main Street in our town. I grappled with the inconsistencies.

I grappled with the same inconsistencies in the movie. White women turned their babies over to black help to raise and bathe and kiss, but refused to allow these same black women to use their bathrooms. Heaven forbid they should have to place their lily-white bottoms on the same toilet seat once used by a black person. It was almost as if they valued their bottoms more than their babies. But such were the morals, the thinking of the time.

Calvin claims whites were as trapped by segregation and Jim Crow as blacks. It made for discord and prejudices all the way around. I hope we've moved beyond all that. I hope so. I truly do...