Tonight, I received two rejections in the span of four minutes. This happened right before the start of a 2-week writing seminar.
If this happened last year, here what I would’ve done:
Immediately obsess over why my work was rejected
Wallow in self-pity of never being good enough
Make an excuse to skip the writing seminar
Continue wallowing, allowing anger and then ennui to take over
Feel unworthy and then resentful about everyone else getting published, doing things, progressing. Everyone, except me
Here’s what happened instead:
I read the 2 rejection emails and promptly closed my inbox
I updated my submission tracker to highlight those 2 submission rows in red, not pausing to think, “Well it’s all still red for 2023, Basmah, what are you even doing here?”
Joined the seminar Zoom meeting with an open mind
Allowed myself to take in the seminar and the insights shared by Sarah Thankam Matthews
Actually went all-in on the in-class exercises, the break room sessions and even stayed the optional extra 10 mins to free write a character
Why am I sharing this?
To state that this writing life sucks most of the time, but I’ve embraced the shittiness.
I’ve accepted that it’s 80% rejection, 15% discipline, 3% hope, and 2% luck.
That I must persevere to become better at the craft, to hone my talent and not ignore it. That I must believe the stories I tell are worth it, that they deserve to be in the world. That in order for that to happen, I have to keep writing, I have to keep learning, I have to keep reading, keep sharing. That it means being at my work desk 8 hours/day and then switching to writing-mode for another couple hours most nights. That it won’t happen without these required and continuous actions. That it will happen in spite of the too-red submission tracker and the sinking feeling I get in my chest every time I read the words, “We appreciate your writing, but…”
So yeah, it’s been a minute since I’ve had a win. And I’m defining win = publication.
Just like a weight loss journey comes with non-scale victories (NSV), a writing journey comes with non-publication victories. NPVs. If this isn’t a term already, here I am coining it.
My NPVs have felt sporadic, but when I take a step back to look at everything holistically, there’s a pattern coming out of my perseverance. I’ll give you an example.
I started this year determined to start pitching magazines. To expand my writing roster and add some dimension to my writing resume so it’s not all creative writing (aka stories, literary essays and poems). I wanted to pitch reflections and meditations, insightful yet incisive pieces that teach you something new but also reveal a little bit of me to the world. So, without a plan or much research, I impulsively started pitching places. Twitter helped – s/o to @WritersofColor. I did it sort of manically for a few weeks in March, driven by the deadline that decorates the top half of this bright-pink post-it at my desk. It mocked me, this post-it. But it also pushed me. Just the right kind of balance to have in a relationship with an inanimate object.
A couple weeks ago, 2 out of the 20-something pitches became a thing.
Take that, post-it!
And now, we’re close to the end of May and both pieces are due next week. Am I internally panicking? Hell yes, because there’s nothing motivates me like a swiftly-approaching deadline. There’s a rush that comes with looking at a calendar and seeing only a few day-boxes left till the thing is due. A thing that requires time, effort and sacred brain-space. A thing that you want to do very, very well because it is THE THING you are here, in this life, to do.
These 2 pitches that actualized into real writing assignments that I will be compensated for and that will be out in the world really embody the equation I shared earlier.
80% rejections
15% discipline
3% hope
2% luck.
The post-it fuels the discipline, out of which comes my submission-tracker. Even too-red, it keeps me accountable to myself. No one out here cares if I ‘make it’ as a writer. Only I care. And only I can make that happen.
The hope is what I nurture. It’s borne out of a desire to live a big life, to write things that outlast my time on earth. To leave behind words that can evoke something. To create meaning.
The rejections are endless. But I know now that they will be. They’re supposed to be. The are the evidence of my effort, the evidence that I’m out here, trying and trying. That I’m not ignoring my vocation. That I’m listening, universe. I promise.
The luck is what happens when I get a “Yes, I’d love to hear more about this topic.” It’s also what happens when I sign up for a seminar about Writing Unforgettable Characters and a generative exercise helps unblock my brain so I end up free-writing an intro to a character that was inaccessible to me for the last three months.
So, 14 rejections and counting for 2023.
My NPVs.
My badges of honor.
I’m glad to have them and you, along for this ride.
I really enjoyed your piece in the latest issue of 80 Degrees - the part about how tea managed to comfort during the loss of your brother was particularly moving. Loved the part that covers how chai/karak has been absorbed into the culture of the Arabian Peninsula but isn’t recognized as such - and would love to read a more in depth piece about that if you have the gas in your tank to write it, at least worth a pitch I think!
Anyhow I wrote a little about experience with karak/chai in that part of the world too if you care to read: https://open.substack.com/pub/teawithdweez/p/the-tea-cup?r=ap3w&utm_medium=ios&utm_campaign=post
Keep pitching and writing! You’re doing a great job.
The obstacle is the way :)