Fail better – on embracing rejection

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. – Samuel Beckett

The other day I got a nice email from One Story. OK, so it was a rejection, but it was a nice rejection. It said, “Thank you for sending us your story. We really enjoyed this piece, but we didn’t feel it was right for One Story. We hope that you will continue to send us your work.”

Several years ago, when I first started submitting my work and the rejection letters began rolling in, I would have spent useless hours trying to interpret the message behind every word in that email. Did they really enjoy the piece, or did they say that to everyone? What do they mean not right for One Story? Not good enough? Too short? Too long? Wrong subject matter? And did they really mean it when they said that they hope I’ll continue to send them my work? Or was that a polite brush-off, the kind we southern girls are adept at by the time we start kindergarten?

Thankfully, I no longer try to read between the lines of a rejection. It is what it is. That particular journal doesn’t want my story, so it’s time to send it on out to someone who might. Which is exactly what I did.

Every writer has been rejected. It’s a fact of the writing life. There are just too many variables involved: the number of submissions a journal receives, the reader’s hangover, the fact that there are already three pieces about flying squirrels slated for the next issue. Much has been written about rejection, so I won’t go on and on about it. I’ll just tell you my personal philosophy, and you can decide whether or not to take it to heart.

Rejection letters (or emails) are badges of honor. They are tangible proof that I am working at writing, that I am trying.

I know fabulous writers who’ve never had anything published, nor are they likely to, because they rarely submit. They’re afraid of failure, afraid of being rejected. I embrace my failures. I try again. Fail again. Fail better. Until eventually I succeed.

Two days after that email from One Story, I got a lovely one from Prime Number Magazine about a piece of flash fiction I had submitted. “Thank you for sending us ‘Mating Habits of the Carolina Wren.’ We love it and would like to publish it in the next update of Prime Number.” That’s an email I never would have gotten if I hadn’t been willing to open myself up to rejection. So whatever it is you want to do: Try again. Fail again. Fail better. One day you might just succeed.

From Hambidge: Week 3

Tomorrow I leave here. I’ve packed up most of my stuff and put it in the car, so all I have to do is throw my suitcase, my shower caddy, and my laptop in the back seat and I’m ready to roll. I won’t hurry – I can be here as late in the day as I want, and I plan to squeeze every second of quiet I can out of the place. Once I get home I know I’ll be back to checking email three or four times a day, and the phone calls and texts will start back up.

I’ve learned something about myself at every residency I’ve been fortunate enough to have. At Hambidge, I’ve learned to appreciate the quiet. To fill that quiet not with technology, but with my own thoughts. I’ve discovered that without all that noise, I hear my own voice and my characters’ voices louder and stronger. I’ve discovered that, contrary to what I might have believed, there is rarely an email emergency. I can go whole days without the urgent notices about penile enhancements and 1-day-only sales at Talbots. I can and should occasionally disconnect.

Oh, yeah, and I learned something else, too. I’m not as brave as I thought I was. I was warned the first day that I might run into a bear at some point (they have an overpopulation of black bears right now) and I thought it would be pretty cool. I had this vision of meeting up with a bear on the trail and taking its picture, then shooing it off while I continued on my merry way. But it turns out I’m a chicken shit. One night I heard something that might or might not have been a bear in the woods outside my cabin, growling and thrashing in the creek, and I squealed. Really, I squealed. I’ve realized that while in theory I like the idea of communing with nature and big hairy animals, I’m a wuss. If I’m in the woods, I don’t want to run into anything bigger or scarier than a squirrel.

So, an 8 hour drive and then I’m back in C’Ville, with lots of new writing and a new appreciation (and healthy respect) for nature. But don’t expect an email too quickly. I might stay disconnected for a while. Or as long as I can stand it, anyway.

From Hambidge: week 2

Weather here has swung from the high 60s to the low 20s and back again over the past two weeks, depending on what day it is and the moods of the mountain gods. My productivity and state of mind have been much like the weather, fluctuating wildly. Euphoric over good news I received on Thursday, unhappy over the turn my novel was taking on Friday. Moving from an all consuming six hour writing session on Tuesday to complete paralysis on Wednesday, when I couldn’t seem to stomach the novel and so forced myself to edit, just to keep in it.

The first time this happened to me, last year at VCCA, I panicked, experiencing a mind-numbing crisis of faith. Now I know that it’s part of my rhythm, and I try to accept it. There will be crazy productive times when I work until I run the well dry, and afterwards, I’ll have to step back and take a break.

Today, to clear my head and refuel, I got out and hiked a bit. Nothing difficult, just a nice walk through the woods. There are many more challenging trails than the one I took, but I’m only interested in the fresh air and a change of scenery, so I didn’t go far. I didn’t need to. Just that short walk helped shake loose my thoughts.

I’ve learned that I’m much more productive when I don’t put too much pressure on myself, when I get out and take in the scenery sometimes. That’s what’s so great about writing – I can give myself permission to wander through the woods, because it’s part of the creative process. Wouldn’t it be nice if all jobs allowed us to take mental health breaks and disappear into nature from time to time?