Painless Rejection
So the letters are going out to publishers, and to agents. And they are coming back. The cycle is surprisingly long, at least in my mind. After repeated lectures on the importance of prompt responses to business associates, it seems strange that it should take from four to six weeks to learn whether someone would be interested in seeing my manuscript. Not to respond to the manuscript itself, mind you, but simply a query into whether to send one. But that’s how the business runs, I guess. I do not envy editors so pressed with letters for permission to send a manuscript. I shudder to think of the workload the manuscripts themselves present.
But at my end, things are quiet. I’ve had five refusals to date. Four were mere form letters, one was much, much more heartening: an apology from an agent too busy to take the manuscript himself, but a suggestion to send it to one of his colleagues, who handles “books in that vein.”
The refusals do not sting. I long ago hardened myself to the notion of endldess “No”s before receiving a yes, and I accepted the common claim that an interested “No” is practically a success. Much of the reason the book has taken me so long is that I am my own harshest critic, and have a hard time believing, deep down, that I have something worth saying, despite the very concrete evidence of wanting to read the book before finding myself forced to write it, since nobody else would. That 99% or more of the literary world is disinterested neither surprises nor bothers me; it is the remaining 1% I seek.
That’s not quite true. Refusals bother me in one respect. Every time I get a “No,” it means I have to send out another query letter. For reasons I can’t fathom, much less explain, asking remains a gut-wrenching terror. What’s the worst that can happen? A refusal? No problem. Got them, shrugged, moved on. A response? No problem.
I think what I fear is a “Yes.”
My writer’s group takes pride in being critical, instead of a mutual support society full of warm fuzzies. That suits me just fine. I enjoy ripping up a stretch of text, that it can be made better. But now, as I move from writing to salesmanship, I find I need a little more in the way of emotional support. Editing doesn’t hurt; it’s stepping out into unknown territory that bothers me. I’m grateful that my writing group is prepared to mock my caution. The sense of perspective it brings hardens me.