Riding the Tide of Writing, Rejections, and Writing Again

I mailed off my first manuscript about 5 years ago.

I was so proud. I had no idea I picked a REALLY hard big 5 publisher and that the chances of someone even laying eyes on it was slim to none.

We had just lost a baby boy when I was about 6 months pregnant, and after our two daughters (4 and 2 years old at the time) asked about their little brother all the time, I found myself writing a children’s book for families who wanted to remember their little ones. I knew how many families (1 in 4!) go through miscarriage or infant loss, and I knew the books for families to process this were surprisingly few. I knew families were starting to talk about their losses more, but many need tools to do so. I knew after a baby died, a tangible way to remember their little one -out loud or on paper- can be truly healing. I wrote, and edited, wrote, and edited. I researched how to format manuscripts, the difference between publishers and agencies, what a query letter was. I started sending my idea into the world of books.

Abram’s story – which I still love and believe in, by the way – hasn’t found a home yet, but it brought me to the gates of publishing, gently blew open the doors, and encouraged me to walk those first wobbling steps into the world of Real Books.

Because we had two daughters, then had another baby, then went through this little global pandemic, my efforts in writing and publishing come and go in waves. I’ve written 3 more children’s book manuscripts, all of which likely still need work, but all of which I’m proud of. I gutted an old novel and worked on it beside our baby’s crib as he fell asleep at nights. I submitted to a twitter competition which led to me to publish my first novel. I got an agent for my children’s books. I learned about contracts and royalties. We got nibbles and bites, but no fish. For the last few years, I’ve felt like I’m simply piecing knowledge together, faking status as an “author,” an imposter in a world that still feels huge and intimidating.

My agent ended up having health problems and had to stop. My sweet indie publisher had to close its doors, having bitten off more than their fresh selves could chew. Self-publishing has involved a lot of research to get that novel back on the shelf. I wanted to stop all of it – the novels, the children’s books, poetry. It’s never going to happen. The world of publishing is too big, too vast, too full of failure. There is too much to learn, and I don’t have time to learn All. The. Things.

And then another idea would hit.

I’d write it, and begin again.

My husband would encourage me. For someone who isn’t a big reader, he believes in his writing wife, and that somehow makes that light stay aflame.

Sometimes “No” rolls off the shoulders.

Sometimes “This isn’t the right fit for me,” feels heavier, the disappointment a microphone for self doubts.

Regardless of how it feels initially, I’ve learned that as writers, we have to celebrate our rejections. When I had an agent, Simon & Schuster rejected me. Personally! With feedback! And even a compliment or two! I literally whooped out loud. Smaller presses have rejected me in a non-form letter! Taking the time to encourage an aspect they thought had promise or point out what needed improving – these give writers a jolt of energy. At least for me they do.

You keep moving.

You keep writing.

This year I got a poem published.

I went to a conference called Women in Publishing Summit that taught me SO much. After patchy self-taught years of struggling to wrap my mind around the publishing arena, I felt spoiled and jubilant to be soaking in information, insights, and advice from professionals. Women empowering women. Saying You. Can. Do. This.

A week later, I got another rejection. My heart felt that familiar heaviness afterwards.

But today, I re-wrote query letters. I edited again. I read out loud. I re-learned about different publishers and companies, finding more whose vision lines up with my stories. I organized my notes from the conference and used the new knowledge. Really used it. It felt good.

I made a plan.

I only submitted to two small presses, but it felt good to submit again. To feel the fresh surge of hope, the release of putting a little piece of myself into the world.

Will I get rejected again?

Oh goodness, quite likely.

Will I keep writing?

Absolutely.

One week at a time.

One query letter at a time.

One piece of knowledge that I didn’t have before.

I will always write for myself because it’s a part of me. It always has been.

But I have stories, and I hope they will find their way onto turning pages, spines we can hold in our hands, words against paper, my heart literally in someone’s hands, connecting.

Because that’s what writing is, really. It’s our heart.

And in this huge, loud, at times overwhelming, world of publishing, it’s good to go back to our core. The writing. And listen to that heartbeat until we are grounded again.