Hey y’all; it’s another Monday, and despite it being summer, there is no shame in having the Monday blues. If you want to read something fun and inspiring, check out this week’s Rejecting Rejection post with author Joe Lunievicz as he gives us a uniquely creative perspective on rejection in the writing world.
A Full Canteen and Courier Font
written by Joe Lunievicz
I’m 16. It is the day of the electric typewriter, and the manual typewriter is still alive and well. I “X” out errors when I make a mistake. No more than three errors are allowed per page. I use Courier font because that’s what’s on my typewriter keys. I throw out a lot of three-quarter finished papers with four errors on them and curse late into the night. I don’t use onionskin anymore. That was a rookie mistake. I’ve published one poem in my high school magazine. It will have to last as motivation for a long, long time. I have a publishing desert to cross and that one short poem becomes the water in my canteen.
Here’s how it goes.
Buy Writer’s Market. Read Writer’s Market from A to Z and highlight potential literary and genre publications with yellow highlighter. Get overwhelmed around page thirty and throw book against wall. Next day, pick it up and get back to highlighting in yellow. Write and send out short stories for thirteen years – single submissions, one story to one periodical at a time. Live for checking the mail every single day.
Collect rejections. So it begins.
Discover multiple submissions ten years into the run and smile. Then realize that rather than get ten rejections a year I can now collect fifty. Oh joy. Favorite rejection: “I can’t believe something this disgusting could be so interesting. Try me again.”
First short story accepted for publication. I am 29. One year and one month later it makes it into print. My canteen is filled again.
Seventeen short stories published over next decade. Each success fills the canteen. Hundreds of rejection letters fill folders like confetti and empty the canteen one drop at a time. After the fifth story is accepted for publication, I think I could write a novel.
Two years later, finish book one: semi-autobiographical love story. Woohoo. Finished, but not finished, but can’t bear to look at it anymore, so it is finished. I am 32.
Buy new Writer’s Market. Read Writer’s Market book publishers section – unexplored territory. Overwhelmed immediately. Throw book against wall. Days later, pick it up and highlight editors with friendly-sounding names with yellow highlighter. Make list of top 20. Queries sent direct to publishers – still pre-internet. One editor requests to read complete manuscript. One year later, receive form letter rejection from him. Form letters fill my blue submission folder. No written comments of any sort mark them. Nothing but xeroxed text. In space, no one can hear you scream.
I begin a yearly ritual of reading tarot on New Year’s Day to see if I’ll get a book published in coming year. Note to other writers: Don’t do this.
Meanwhile, work on book two – rugby book. Two years later, finish it.
Dump Writer’s Market. Buy Jeff Herman’s Guide to Book Publishers, Editors & Literary Agents. Has personal information about likes/dislikes of agents – perfect for tailoring submission list and query letter. Attempt to read it. Instantly overwhelmed. Have mild panic attack. Throw book against wall. Pick it up. Start with A and end with Z. Highlight all agents who like sports and literary fiction. No agent likes rugby, but I’m hopeful.
Send out exactly 75 queries over three years. Receive ten requests to read complete manuscript. One agent calls me just to say, “I love this book but have to idea how to sell it, so I have to pass.” Have surge of epinephrine. Walk around with moon smile for one hour and regale friends with story of rejection.
Second agent calls. Yells at me over the phone from Rhode Island when I ask why he needs to be paid a $500 non-refundable retainer. Want agent so bad, almost pay retainer.
Third agent calls. Wants to meet me. Office near Flatiron Building in Manhattan. Summer day. 88 degrees on street near 24th and Broadway. Ex-husband and wife agent team – double agents (DAs). She sounds like Doctor Ruth. He has cancer. Contract signed. Nothing happens for three years. Nothing. Waiting on mail. Waiting on email. Waiting on phone. Asked to come in for meeting as third year ends. Find out book was only sent out twice. DA ex-wife says, “DA ex-husband died.” My mouth falls open. She says, “I never liked your book. DA ex-husband did.” I leave only after my wife tells me over phone to go. I do not want to look for another agent. I do not want to go. DA ex-wife does not like my book. I take my book and leave, exhaling.
Meanwhile, write third book about 40-year-old virgin. Join writer’s group. Finish book and pronounce it good. Check email every day. No longer do a tarot reading on New Year’s Day.
Buy newest edition of Jeff Herman’s Guide to Publishers, Editors, & Literary Agents. Get overwhelmed on table of contents. Have full-on panic attack then throw book against wall. Highlight agents in yellow, blue, and orange for a change of pace. Therapist says blue is soothing color. Create and prioritize new submission list with agents who liked rugby book at top of list. Twenty agents reject novel. One offers to represent. She doesn’t love book. Supposed to love book. Must love book. Doesn’t love book. But want agent – need agent. But doesn’t love book. I hesitate long enough for friend to recommend her agent – a blond Florida woman agent who used to work for Disney. Blond Florida woman agent (BFWA) loves book. Canteen fills. Sign contract with BFWA.
9/11 happens. In Tower Two, 16th floor. See Tower One get hit. Go down stairs. On mezzanine when Tower Two gets hit. Escape on last E train leaving Chambers Street Station. Falling debris looks like grey snow.
I turn 40. My son is born.
Book almost published by St. Martin’s Press. Editor leaves day before pitching my book at acquisition meeting. Canteen
empty. BFWA tells me guys at print shop where she makes copies of Virgin Book loved my book. Canteen full. BFWA says there’s interest from John Cusack’s production company. Six months later says no. Miss opportunity with editor at Algonquin because BFWA has nervous breakdown. Stay with her for another year. Don’t want to look for another agent again. She loves my book. She leaves publishing to open gourmet deli on south fork of Long Island and lets me go. Have to cross the desert again. Canteen’s empty.
Finish fourth book – historical novel about fencer. Buy Jeff Herman’s Guide to Publishers, Editors, & Literary Agents but can’t open it. Overwhelmed by cover. Have depression and panic attack at same time. Throw book against wall. Pick it up. Long exhale. Choose sixteen agents from those who had interest in first two books. Another friend recommends her agent. Big slick agent (BSA) at big slick agency (BSAy). Visit office in midtown. Offers me coffee. Actors sit on couch next to me in waiting room. Feel like I’m in a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode. Agent says will send over contract. Do Rocky dance.
Got good notes from BSA. Change book to YA novel. Never get contract.
“Don’t worry,” BSA from BSAy says.
Try not to.
Write. Write. Revise. Edit. Write.
Call BSA at BSAy. Admin at BSAy says BSA has left BSAy.
I call BSA on home phone – boundaries and decorum be-damned. I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
BSA replies, “I forgot.” Guilt him into giving six referrals. Am good at guilt. Have had lots of practice using it on self.
One says no.
Two says no.
Three says no.
Four says no.
Five says no.
A year has passed.
I give inappropriate advice to other writers at speaking engagement. “Don’t try to become a novelist because only 3% make a living at it. It’s a fool’s errand. Become a doctor or lawyer.” I crush somebody’s dream. I am ashamed.
Sixth guilt referral agent (SGRA) says, “I don’t love book. But I’ll try.” She doesn’t love book – but she’ll try. I give up. Can’t get myself to cross publishing desert again. I say yes.
A year passes. Agent moves to Kansas City. I don’t care. I write short pieces and draw with markers in lots of small artist notebooks. I avoid family on holidays. They ask too many questions about the book, my book, a book, any book.
It is August. It is hot. We’re in Maine at Acadia National Park camping. I have given up… almost. I get call on cell.
SGRA says, “I sold your book.”
Don’t answer for a long time.
“You’re supposed to be happy.”
I am. I am 49. I wield big moon smile.
My canteen is full.
I exhale.
Joe Lunievicz has been writing stories, essays, and poetry since he was 16. His work has appeared in Smoke Magazine, Playboy.com, Rugby, Dragon Magazine, Another Chicago Magazine, and Mothering. Open Wounds is his debut novel. In addition to writing, Lunievicz is a sought-after national speaker on diversity issues, drug treatment, team building, HIV/AIDS, and public speaking. He’s performed improvisational comedy, taught stage fencing at HB Studio, and is a practitioner as well as a teacher of yoga. He drew on his experiences as a fight choreographer, playwright, and competitive fencer in writing Open Wounds. He lives in Queens, New York with his wife, son and two dogs.