Rejection

and its' buddies radio silence and despair

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Good morning! Happy July!

What kind of award do I win for getting to 9:45 with some toast and my leftover coffee over ice and sitting down at my desk?

I just finished my last tonsillitis antibiotics but my cough is stubbornly lingering, so I haven’t gotten a solid night of sleep for quite some time. (I just talked the doctor who said “sorry, that’s what it does.”)

I woke up to Julius wailing: “I don’t want to; I don’t want to; I don’t want to.” (What doesn’t Julius want to do? We will never know.) Between 6:30 AM and getting out the door at 8:30 AM, I refereed 798 fights between Julius and his big sister Simone about poking, couch space, and eating fruit roll-ups for breakfast. I got all of us fed and dressed. I packed lunches, morning snacks, afternoon snacks, extra clothes, sunscreen, new school slippers, water bottles, and rest mats for the first day of summer camp at preschool. I doled out chewable allergy meds and toothbrushes and sun hats, no not those hats, no I do not want you to brush my hair, no I do not want to wear those shoes, I want to climb into the carseat by myself, I want to do the red buckle by myself, no you’re not standing in the right spot—I DON’T WANT TO.

But they’re at camp. The dog is walked. The sun is shining. My coffee is strong.

I wanted to write about REJECTION because it’s been coming up a lot for me recently.

I tell my writer friends and my writer students that it’s an inevitable, integral part of being a writer, an unpleasant but unavoidable part of the process. Because it’s true. Sorry to say. Stephen King’s CARRIE was rejected by 30 publishers before it became, well, CARRIE. Most of my own favorite articles were “no thank yous,” or, worse and way more common, radio silence, before an editor saw a home for them in their publication. I have endless pages full of ideas for stories that nobody seems to want. Although I am weirdly hopeful; I believe the essential ones will find a place one day, or find their way into another story, or maybe an email here. I believe no writing is wasted.

I sold my books with book proposals, which dozens of publishers didn’t want for various reasons, including “we already published a food memoir last year,” “restaurants and eating disorders are not related” (UM?!), and a strangely common, unhelpful “we liked it but we didn’t love it.” I got one rejection that was so deeply, keenly complimentary of my writing and my story, it made me cry—a love letter with a “nope” at the end.

Right before Julius was born, I got very close to selling a third book. But if you know me, you know there it not a third book. Not yet! My agent did her best magic, and still, it did not sell.

But I am stubborn and I am hopeful. One day, there will be a third book. Just not that one.

The rejections can take various forms. I thought that after I became a published author—with legit accolades! and reviews! and even bestseller status!—my experience with rejection would change. Surely, everyone would want everything I wrote. All the doors would swing open and stay ajar. But it didn’t work that way at all. I didn’t really get wide open doors, just, maybe, a crack. A few cracks here and there. Still, I soldier on. Still, my pitches get met with rejections. Occasionally, just when it feels too brutal, there’a a maybe, a yes. It’s just part of the writerly experience, and part of the human experience, too.

I’ve been talking with writer friends about the juicy, catchy idea that just doesn’t sell. The “I’ll get back to you,” that never gets back. The dashed hopes. The crushed souls. I don’t mean to be histrionic, it really does feel this way. We put our best stuff, our rawest, brilliant ideas straight from our hearts onto paper. That no feels like the worst kind of blow. It truly hurts.

Here are some of my rejection strategies:

• For me, the fear of rejection is often worse than the rejection itself. It can stop me from even starting. Do it anyway. Write the thing that feels too weird and dark and wild. If it feels that way, you’re probably touching on something gold.

• Remind yourself 980973 times: it’s not personal. It feels personal every time, but that feeling does not reflect reality. The “no” way more likely has to do with insane inboxes, editorial calendars, advertising budgets, whims of bosses, trends…and zero to do with the quality of your work. Let’s say it again, together: it’s not personal!

• Go where it’s warm. Or as they say in recovery, don’t go to the hardware store for oranges. If you need a win, do something you know will feel good: call a friend, take a walk, cook something soul-satisfying.

• Commiserate with fellow writers and artists. We have all been there. It’s rough out there. It’s better together.

• Submit again. Pitch again, somewhere that’s am even bigger deal. Write something new. Keep going. I believe in you.

xo,

Hannah

PS I interviewed former student and incredible writer Kristin Vuković for the Cheese Professor about her debut novel THE CHEESEMAKER’S DAUGHTER. I’ll be in conversation with her on August 6 in NYC. Grab your tix!

PPS I wrote about grocery store olive oil for DoorDash.

PPPS I wrote about my amazing new local restaurant FiNBARR for Edible Jersey.

PPPPS I love where we live, and these moments where there is no fighting, just love.