by Robert Peake
In the time it took me to write, proofread and send this piece around to some trusted friends for feedback, I received three more rejections of my poetry, bringing my lifetime total up to 80. Fortunately, I am not the only one receiving these things. This month, multiple Read Write Poem members asked me if I would respond to the question, “What should you learn from rejection letters?”
I believe asking questions like this indicates a mindset necessary to sustaining a life steeped in art — a mindset seeking constantly to learn. Practically speaking, there are three components of a rejection letter worth considering if you want to learn from them: the fact of rejection, the source of the rejection and the contents of the letter.
The first part is tough to swallow: Your poems have been rejected. You suspected as much when you saw the thin SASE in your mailbox or politely titled subject line in your email inbox. There it is: rejection. A single data point, which does not indicate failure but certainly the lack of your hoped-for success.
But rejected by whom? The senior editor of a national magazine? An intern filtering fast-and-furious through the slush pile of a university press? An editor-friend who has written a candid page of feedback? Discern what you can about where the rejection came from, since as much as this stings, it may also tell you more about how far your piece went.
And finally, what was the nature of the rejection? Did you get a form slip, with nicely worded stock phrases? Or a personalized message complimenting specific aspects of your work and expressing sincere regrets at the editor’s obligation to clear backlog before taking new artistic risks? Some rejections can almost bolster your spirits as much as an acceptance. Almost. But all rejections can teach something.
That said, it can be tempting, and dangerous, to jump to conclusions based on thin information. The very fact of rejection is insufficient grounds to conclude your that poems are terrible, that you are a terrible poet, possibly a terrible person, and that giving up writing for good would be a service to humanity. And yet, despite numerous rejection letters, whenever I get a new one, a twinge of this defeatist thinking still flashes through my brain.
So, one important thing rejection letters teach you is — how to take rejection letters! Though that may sound glib and tautological, the truth is that rejection is a major part of writing poetry. So, learning to suppress the self-sabotage reflex is a requisite skill of the trade.
However, it can be equally tempting, in the name of self-preservation, to suppress useful feedback, and this is equally dangerous. You were rejected for a reason. It could be nothing more than a fatal combination of statistics and the subjectivity of taste. In fact, this is likely the case.
Nonetheless, I have found it useful, at minimum, to keep track of my acceptances as well as my rejections — not necessarily to save the slips, but to at least note the submission date, journal, poems, rejection date and any comments on a spreadsheet.
Taken over a long period of time, and with a boulder-sized crystal of salt, this can sometimes give me a feel for how well a particular poem is faring out there. But beyond the weird science of tracking results in aggregate — a process as fraught with pseudoscience and superstition as a fisherman chasing the perfect bait — is the sometimes-useful nature of the rejection itself.
I say “sometimes-useful” because first, it is incredibly rare, in my experience, to receive anything more than a form letter or standard slip; second, because what can seem like a personalized note of encouragement may be nothing more than a vague attempt to assuage the sub-editor’s conscience, keep you on as a subscriber, or both; and finally, because even earnest feedback is not always necessarily helpful.
Consider the publication. I will take this opportunity to say that if you do not both respect a journal and find its sensibilities sympatico to your own, you have no business sending your work there. None. If you do so, your first response to their rejection slip should not be surprise, but rather, as a writer friend-of-a-friend once quipped upon opening his mailbox, “Oh, look! It’s the rejection slip I sent off for.” Indeed, you did.
Assuming you sent poems to a journal you like and respect, it might be useful to see how far it went. I rarely save rejection letters. But I have filed away a personal note from a prominent editor who admired my work — not only because it soothed my ego, but because I intend to remind him, in the cover letter of next year’s submission, how much he said he liked my previous poems.
I also know a handful of editors whom I also consider friends. I do my best to maintain a healthy schizophrenia between our friendship and our writer-editor relationship. Still, they will often give candid remarks when they reject my poems, and this I take to heart.
The key, I think, in all of this, is knowing what to take to heart, and what to take on the chin. With regard to more detailed feedback, this is an opportunity to gain much-needed outside perspective on your work. Learning how a respected outsider has responded to your work can help you to think more like an outsider, refining your poems toward greater publishability.
That said, the submission process is not, and should not, be your primary mechanism for seeking detailed feedback. Workshops, mentors, and trusted poet-friends are all richer, and often more tactful sources of constructive criticism.
While none of the above indicates a hard-and-fast rule set for separating the nutritious elements of feedback from stock rejection chaff, it should at least give you some sense of how I have managed to navigate this uncomfortable but inevitable topic in my own career. In closing, I would like to answer a more philosophical variation of this question, which is: “What can you learn from rejection in general?”
In addition to rejection teaching you how to deal with rejection, it shows you what you are made of. I believe success in the arts often depends on longevity, that longevity depends on endurance, and that the only way to endure is to love the process. Rejection is part of the process.
So, above all, rejection has taught me perseverance in the discipline I love, kindness toward my sometimes-fragile writerly self, and that the only person who can declare my defeat in the poetry business is me. In the face of rejection, I simply refuse to call it quits — time and time again.
I suppose I could, like Emily Dickinson, lock up my poems in a hope chest, and still enjoy the writing process. But to me, poetry is a conversation — with myself, my forbearers, contemporaries and possibly future inheritors. Publication is the medium of that conversation, and with it, especially early on, comes rejection and more rejection. I won’t pretend to like it. But I can say with certainty that by embracing rejection as a teacher, I know that I have grown as a poet.
Wishing you all good writing, great success and a graceful relationship to rejection when it comes. Send future questions and comments to advice (at) readwritepoem (dot) org. And, please! Enough with rejection. I can only take so much.
Robert Peake studied poetry at U.C. Berkeley and in the Master of Fine Arts in Writing program at Pacific University, Ore. His poems have appeared in North American Review, Rattle and are forthcoming in Poetry International. Robert writes about poetry at robertpeake.com. (photo credit :: John J. Campbell)
What should you learn from rejection letters?
Editors have a sense of humor?
My favorite line: “I believe success in the arts often depends on longevity, that longevity depends on endurance, and that the only way to endure is to love the process.”
Thank you for your thoughtful article! It came at the BEST possible time
(i.e. a slew of rejections have just come in….phhht…ahem).
What wonderful words of wisdom, gained from experience as well as from deep reflection on that experience! I recognize myself in several of these statements. One other lesson I have learned: my respect for editors who reject my work has grown. Think about much courage and aesthetic integrity it takes for them to say “no” to sensitive writers (especially to writers whom they know).
Thank you for this excellent advice column!
What to take to heart & what to take on the chin, “Oh, look! It’s the rejection slip I sent off for.”–great column, Robert, chock full of gold, thank you!
You confirmed my suspicions.
Now, I need to get busy getting some rejection and acceptance slips in the mail…
Thanks for a useful column. After a twenty year hiatus in submitting (though not writing – musicians call it “woodshedding”) I’ve decided to start getting work out to the public beyond my blog, and reminders that rejections are not necessarily an indication of worth. Here’s a Merwin poem that speaks to the matter:
Berryman
oops – “…an indication of worth are helpful.”
[...] first article in my new series for Read Write Poem is now available, tackling the painful and often taboo topic [...]
So glad you all got value from this!
Thanks for the very helpful article, Robert! Your name and face looked familiar, and then I realized I spent a lot reading and re-reading your article, “The Trouble with Sonnets” a few months ago–that was a great one, too.
Off now to court more rejection…:)
Thank you, Robert. Your comments about submitting to journals you respect that have sensibilities similar to your own are so true. And although the handwritten notes are great reminders that people don’t necessarily dislike your rejected work, it still gets frustrating to get the “we loved these poems, but they don’t fit with the issue/flow/not this time” comments. All success comes with its lion’s share of failures – but like Beckett says, “Fail again. Fail better.”
Thanks, Kristen. Small world!
And as someone who has never submitted poetry but often submits scientific articles, the same holds true. Another piece you acquire is skill in identifying empty rejections and acceptances. Some papers are rejected or accepted with platitudes but no specifics. You learn nothing from either. Both suck.
To me, an empty acceptance is worse. I’ve had painful errors affixed in ink.
Very wise and full of common sense. I thought I knew most of what you say, but it struck me freshly and helpfully. Thank you,
good tips but only 80 rejections?
that seems low! or i just have too many!
Not unrelated: Rejection Digest (via HTML Giant)
Once I send a poem out, a process happens. When it is rejected, I read it with objectivity and can see how to revise it. Sometimes it is just still raw, not cooked enough. Other times, a poem rejected by many mags will finally find a home. It is, as far as I am concerned, both a crap shoot and an act of grace to fit the right poem to the right journal…and the competition is fierce.
I once heard a well-published poet say that she receives about 1 acceptance per 25 submissions.
But fortunately with websites like readwritepoem.org, we can read each other’s work on our blogs.
By the way, when you do have a poem accepted, do you read EVERY page of the complimentary copy sent to you?
Good question, Wendy! And a great articulation of the dance between submission and revision. Sadly, I don’t necessarily read every page of every journal to which I subscribe–whether or not it bears a poem of my own in it. I do try to get my money’s worth out of every new journal I pick up, but still I skim on instinct to maximize the use of my most precious resource–time.
[...] poetry advice column: what should you learn from rejection letters? [...]
Nice post. I feel empowered to get me some of those rejection slips.
[...] about poetry! The next Poetry Advice Column (in case you missed the first, about rejection, find it here) is in the works and Robert wants to know what you want to [...]
Great article, thank you. It’s MFA response season and I need all the perspective I can get. My stories have already been rejected by a slew of journals and the skin has grown thicker, but MFA rejections are a new kind of pain.
I hear you Ink and Beans. Hang in there. I found the perfect program for me eventually.
[...] Peake has a column in readwritepoem called What you should learn from rejection letters where he suggests, if you don’t already, to make a spreadsheet to track results in aggregate [...]
Good general advice, but do you think you could suggest 20 or so journals which are both accessible and respected? By “accessible” I mean a non-established writer’s work will be seriously considered, and, if rejected, maybe critiqued by the editor. I don’t consider a handwritten note that says “sorry”, or “try again” at all useful.
Deb Scott replied:
March 6th, 2010 at 7:12 pm
Patrick, a list of 20 journals sure seems a lot to ask for. I don’t mean to be snotty or mean, but it isn’t the editor’s job to provide critique.
However, you might search http://www.duotrope.com/ for publications that tend to send personal notes with their rejections.
Patrick,
Yes, try Duotrope. In the menu called “Curious?” they have a list of the “most approachable” publications. (It’s either Curious or What’s New – it’s not hard to find in any case.) Editors very rarely provide critique. The only time I’ve ever gotten critique from a journal editor was when they accepted the poem.
good luck
Deb Scott replied:
March 7th, 2010 at 6:34 pm
Much clearer & helpful advice. Thanks, Sarah.
Deb & Sarah: Thanks. I am aware of Doutrope. It’s a great site but has almost too much information on thousands of journals. Many (especially the internet ones) will probably only last a few months. I was just hoping that someone might know of a few jounals (maybe not 20) that are friendly towards beginning poets.
And, Deb, you say it is not the editor’s job to provide critique. Well, maybe yes, maybe no. Often I will spend $5 to $10 actually ordering an issue of a journal (with a circulation of maybe about 500). I will read it (or most of it), and them submit my work. After my investment (in money & research time) I get a rejection slip – - usually after several months. In those cases, do you think it would hurt for an editor to say a word or two? Just seems like good customer relations to me. In no way am I suggesting that subscribers should have a better chance at publication – - that would be totally unprofessional and smacks of vanity publications – - which I hate. But why can’t editors offer a few words of wisdom to those who actually help keep their journals afloat?
Try Snakeskin – a good journal that’s approachable and has been around forever. UK based.
Pat, I hear you. It’s a brutal business that editors so rarely comment. It’s driven by numbers, and the near-impossibility of personal response. At least, that’s what I gather from my editor pals, who are certainly not lazy or mean. Look to trusted peers and workshop groups for meaningful feedback. Expect plenty of rejection slips when starting out trying to publish your poems. Take heart that pretty much everyone experiences this.
Just a note to say that, since the announcement that RWP will no longer feature new content starting May 1st, my final column (slated for Mid-may) will not appear on the RWP site. In the interest of answering Julie’s question, I have posted my final poetry advice column piece on my own site:
http://www.robertpeake.com/archives/1037-should-i-do-an-mfa-and-farewell-read-write-poem.html