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An Editor’s Perspective on Rejection

Filed Under: SF Business, Uncategorized

Since I’ve taken on the gig of managing editor at Escape Pod, I’ve been relearning a lot of things about being an editor that I had forgotten in the time since closing th Fortean Bureau. I’ve been thinking a lot about rejection letters, and rejection in general, but not from my usual perspective as a writer, but now as an editor. It’s informing the way I think about rejections as a writer as well.

It’s Not Personal

Rejection letters aren’t personal. I find it very hard not to take them personally because by god, I wrote the story, I poured my self onto the page, and so it hurts to see that rejection come in most of the time. My stories are like the mind-prosthesies I never really asked for. And they transmit pain like any real limb. Er, so to speak.

Doling out rejections, many to fine writers whose work I love in a general sense, it’s really hit home. The rejection is always for the story at hand, and it’s not about you. Great writers get rejected. You will too.

I walk a very fine line in trying to avoid offense with my rejection letters. How much detail does a Hugo-nominated writer need when you bounce his or her story? Do they need a reason other than, just didn’t sync up with my inventory needs at this time? I don’t want to be in the business of handing out writing advice in my rejection letters. I tend to err on the side of less, rather than more, information. Which brings me to my next point.

My Rejection is not Writing Advice

Most of the time, my rejection letter says the same simple line: “didn’t grab me.” I stole this one from F&SF, because it’s succinct and a polite way of putting the truth. When I write this, it means that I did not finish your story because I got bored with it. Sorry, but that’s the truth. And that’s why I don’t write what I literally mean in the rejection letter, because I am not a callous monster. When I do provide feedback as to why I am not buying a story, it’s just based on my personal experience of reading the story. Every editor brings their own peculiar biases and interests to the table. There are some ideas that always grab me more than others. Biological SF will win out over asteroid mining every time, until you write that asteroid mining story that proves me wrong.

New writers should most definitely not be looking for writing advice in their rejection letters. Other writers, and a critique group, are the best way to gain this insight. It’s not the (short fiction) editor’s job, especially not today, to cultivate the writer’s talent. We support your talent, but we don’t have the time to fertilize it. You need to turn to other sources for advice.

I can understand the impulse to seek feedback from editors. Writing is a solitary game, and it’s hard to find methods with which to measure your progress. How do you know if you’re getting close?

Again, time to be blunt. You’ll know you’re getting close because the editor will tell you. When your rejection letter asks for more of your work, that’s not just being polite. That’s because we think you have the chops and we’re just looking for the right story. When rejection letters turn from “didn’t grab” to “didn’t work for me, for the following reasons” that’s a step up.

Trust me, the pain is only beginning when you’ve made those first couple of sales. You’ll want more, and if lighting has struck a little early, it can be painful to go quite a while afterwards.

At the same time, if you go from encouraging rejections to a non-encouraging one, it doesn’t mean you’ve backslid. It probably just means the editor has gotten a bit too busy to give you special attention.

I Liked It, but I Didn’t Love It

I get to buy 52-ish stories a year, and I probably select those from ten times that many at least. This means I am not only looking for good stories, but I’m looking for stories that leave an impact on me. I reject a decent number of good stories, because I can’t use up all my slots buying just good stories. They have to be good, plus some. That spark is the most elusive thing you’ll seek as you develop as a writer.

I personally haven’t broken past this phase. My rejections are very often in the “this is a good story, but I didn’t like it enough to buy it” variety. I sell ocasionally, but this is my career wall at the moment. I think I’m close to understanding why, but I may never know, and I may never take the step forward. Especially if I don’t write more than I have been these past few years.

Doesn’t Fit My Needs at This Time

This is very similiar to the “like it, didn’t love it” rejection letter. Under different circumstances, I might have, probably would have, bought this story. But maybe it’s a bit dark in tone, and I’ve been buying way too many of those lately. Maybe at the moment, I need more light-hearted pieces. Maybe I bought an asteroid mining story shortly before you submitted yours, and they’re too similar in subject matter.

This is the “shit happens” rejection letter. I find they’re the hardest and easiest to take at the same time. They’re frustrating, but at least you can put these to the capriciousness of fate, rather than your own personal skills. It helps.

So that’s a little bit of the thinking I’ve been exploring regarding rejection as I work to select stories for Escape Pod. It’s definitely given me a better perspective on my own rejections. If it were possible, I would recommend every serious writer find a way to read slush some day. Not only do you learn to spot the most common mistakes, you start to get a little empathy for that poor soul on the other side of the transom.

TAGS: editing, My Writing, podcasting, rejection, Science fiction, Writing Advice

POSTED: 8:30 am Mon June 29 2009 |