The Art of Rejection

You are going to get the impression that I am barking mad. Stark barking mad.

Rejections are spinach to Popeye. They are Brussel's Sprouts to kids. They are good for you.

Rejections are part of the internship of authorship. It’s the workout studio where an author pumps, pushes, works out and makes all the right noises to get their muscles into gear.

Let’s set a picture of your typical overnight success. (Names and faces have been disguised to protect the innocent.)

Author at computer typing.
Phone rings.
“Hello?”
bblbblbblbblbblbbl
“Yes?”
bblbblbblbblbblbbl
“Yes?”
bblbblbblbblbblbbl
“Mr.Murdoch?”
bblbblbblbblbblbbl
“Nicole Kidman?”
bblbblbblbblbblbbl
“And George Clooney too?”
“Goodbye.”
Author dials husband.
“Did you tell anyone I’m writing a book? Seems Nicole Kidman has bought it. And George Clooney wants to direct.”
And as the author hangs up a huge flapping noise distracts his/her attention. It’s the biggest flock of pigs he’s/she’s ever seen.

Rejections are just part of ‘this writing life’. You can pad your walls with them, make jokes about them. But they are doing one thing for you that is very important.

They are making you tough. You have to look at yourself constantly and think – ‘what could I have done to make this better, stronger, more forceful?’ They are the guts you have to develop to keep yourself on your toes. To nag you to the point where you are at the very best you can be at any stage of your skill. They are the point at which complacency cannot find an easy place to rest.

In the meantime, skill of the art of rejection has eluded the overnight successful. The second book never eventuates. Only fear of failure, of not living up to the myth created in a cosmic miracle.

There are no flying pigs where I sit.