Personal Rejection Letters

When I first began submitting stories more than ten years ago, I was quickly introduced to the type of form letter used by most magazines and agents who weren’t interested in my works. Form letters in general were nothing new to me, but I was foolish enough to believe that such things weren’t used in the publishing industry.

Within a year, I became bitter at the form letters. Why was this piece rejected? What didn’t the editors like? A series of such questions went through my mind, and the question I most wanted answered was: what, if anything, can I change in this story so that it is accepted by another publisher? Without any feedback, I felt lost and completely uncertain of my writing skills (or lack thereof).

When I finally began to receive personal rejection letters on occasion, I felt like my questions were answered. I would change what I could with the feedback provided in hopes of making the story better. Unfortunately, I didn’t understand that each editor has his or her own viewpoint. They aren’t all hanging out in the same club waiting for a new revision to satisfy a common desire in storytelling.

I’m now at a point that I prefer form rejection letters. I’ve realized that magazines need to stay focused on their core business, which is publishing stories. Commenting on rejected stories doesn’t make any money. As writers, we need magazines to stay in business and keep up with their deadlines, and I would rather receive a form rejection that came from an editor reading two paragraphs of my story if it meant that the magazine remains profitable and on schedule. Even if I look at it with a purely selfish motivation, what good would it do to have a story accepted at a magazine that has to close because it can’t meet its own business needs?

As writers, if we want feedback on our stories, we need to seek other writers, critique groups or seminars. It isn’t the responsibility of editors to make us better writers. They need to focus on the works they have accepted and on the other priorities necessary in meeting deadlines and growing subscriptions.

Form letters are a good thing. All we need to know is that a story was not accepted. Put a fresh manuscript in an envelope and send it to the next place. Trust me, the time I spent in years past grumbling and complaining was wasted. It’s fun to get a personal note at times, but don’t use it to guide your entire writing career.

This Isn’t What We’re Looking For

I’ve collected numerous rejections of various forms from editors and agents, and there’s a certain phrase that comes up often. The common form of the phrase is: “This isn’t what we’re looking for at this time.” I have some ideas as to what this response might mean:

1. Stories with poor grammar, inconsistent characters and a confusing plot don’t match up with what we’re publishing at the moment.
2. You didn’t read our guidelines, but there’s no point in telling you that.
3. I didn’t read this, but with that stupid title, do you blame me?
4. I’d rather not stain our issue with your name.
5. Five minutes ago, I’d have sent you a contract for publication. Unfortunately, it’s now the hour of rejection.
6. I’m waiting for Stephen King to submit something.
7. I can’t make any money with this crap you sent me.
8. We had fifty submissions this month, and they all looked like variants of your story, as well as the works of J.R.R. Tolkien.
9. I only have enough room left in this issue for 2100 words, and those words will come from me.
10. I’m trying to find stories about monkey ninjas exploring outer space. But not like the one you submitted.

Collecting Rejection Letters

Anyone who seeks publication with their works inevitably receives rejection letters. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes, but there is something to be gained from each one.

Keep every rejection letter you receive. If it’s an email, print it out. Keep them in a folder or drawer somewhere near your writing space. It shouldn’t be a monument of spite so much as a monument of progress. This is proof that you are a writer with intent, even if you’ve never seen the light of publication. I can’t even count how many people I’ve run into that talk about wanting their writing published but have yet to submit to a single market.

Rejection letters, even form rejection letters (non-specific to the submitter) inform us of a market’s response time. There are sites such as duotrope’s digest and the Black Hole that report response times, so use those in addition to personal experience to get a feel for how long the wait might be in the future.

After multiple submissions to the same market, you’ll start to notice a pattern in the rejections. If the pattern changes, pay attention. There was a market that I submitted to years ago that had a form rejection letter where they put checkmarks next to a series of statements about the story. On one such letter they had checked a box next to a line commenting that they wanted to see more of my work. The response to my next submission didn’t have that box checked. Had I shuffled it away without looking at what had changed, I might have missed an indication that one story was weaker than another (at least in their eyes).

Celebrate the personalized responses, especially if they come from markets that typically send form rejections. If the editor provides reasons for the rejection, take another look at your story in light of the comments. Before acting on a single opinion, you may want to ask someone else to read the story and give some feedback to see if there is agreement with the editor (this may also help clarify broad issues). I do, however, think it’s better to lean more towards considering an editor’s opinion than ignoring an editor’s opinion.

There are other fun things that could be done with rejection letters, such as making giant origami structures or new wallpaper, but that would take another article by itself. For those who already have fine collections going, keep at it. There’s no reason to get discouraged now. If you’re just starting out, don’t worry. You’ll catch up soon.