Rejection, rejection, rejection

In the last few years, I have written two books, and the thing people always want to know is how. “How did you write the book?” I hear constantly. I think we all want to find that there is a secret way, that all it takes is drinking a glass of salted water on a full moon and, bang, you’ve knocked out a draft. I’m always tempted to respond:

“It’s not about how I wrote them, the question you should be asking is ‘how did I continue to resist the urge to set fire to the world during every rejection I received in the process?’”

You see, in my experience, the actual writing – the getting up at 6am to hit the day’s word-count before you bring your kids to school and start your day-job – is half the battle. The other half is continuing to do it in the face of rejection. So much rejection. After a couple of years, I announced to a pal that I was a Master of Rejection. “No one can touch me in the rejection stakes,” I said, drenched in bitterness.

“I wouldn’t broadcast that,” she advised. And she’s right, it’s not a palatable admission, is it? We live in an age of relentless positivity. Many feel the best approach to rejection and setbacks is to simply reject rejection. Tunnel-visioned positiveth­inking your way out of rejection might work for some industries; though, look closer, and it’s been at the heart of some embarrassi­ng business nosedives – think the Theranos scandal in which a multi-million-dollar company was built on nothing more than spin and a megalomani­ac CEO who refused to “listen to problems, only solutions”. With books, however, you must listen to your rejection if you ever hope to move past it. Eventually, your rejection muscle becomes honed enough that with each new gut-punch of refusal, you do actually come to hear the criticism – constructi­ve or otherwise – and it becomes useful, valuable even. Though still utterly hateful.

And who feels safe admitting to rejection? I certainly don’t. I am definitely scared that my publishers will read this and finally notice that I’m crap. Or that how people view my work will be tainted knowing that so many different projects were rejected by so many different people. However, as a rejection-aficionado, I do know that reading about other people’s rejection is the only balm when nursing your own. So, for anyone reading this and smarting from yet another knock-back, feel buoyed that behind every person with some modicum of success are innumerabl­e failures. I call mine NOW 41 – Now That’s What I Call Rejection. I have categories

like “most painful ghosting”, “most brutal and public rejection”, and “most irritating”. There’s even a “nicest rejection” category (shout out to literary agent Juliet Pickering, who writes a damn fine “thanks, but no thanks!”).

Last November, I went away by myself to a yoga retreat, and I suppose I was probably baiting the gods by being so chill and happy because that week about six different rejections converged on my inbox at once.

All that week, I rebelled against the requisite yoga holiday activities like hiking and meditating in favour of eating Koka noodles in the bath in a state of blazing fury. I read how Harry Potter was rejected 14 times, and how Carrie was rejected 30 times, as was A Wrinkle in Time. I thought about how I need to collect rejection and tap out the rejection-count as much as the word-count. That is what writing is.

And I wrote. I wrote because when you remove all the mechanics of books – the publishing and recognitio­n and accolades – the writing is what’s left. The writing is the fun bit. I’ve had recognitio­n, moderate accolades and heartening reviews, and actually, I’m as crap at that part as I am at the rejection part. So, I focus on the writing, all the while collecting the rejection and still, on occasion, taking to the bath with Koka noodles and a wild burning rage because rejection never ends. If you are doing, you’re risking rejection, but there’s no rejection worse than rejecting the boundless potential of continuing to try. Sophie White is a journalist, podcaster and author of Recipes for

a Nervous Breakdown. Her first fiction novel, Filter This (Hachette

Ireland, €12.99) is out September 5.

“We live in an age of relentless positivity. Many

feel the best approach is to reject rejection.”

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