📌 Take Your Cue from Papier-Mâché (and the Zen of Caring Too Much) While Querying or Submitting

Or any other time, frankly

One editor I recently workshopped with said she had heard from another editor that publishing was "a gambling industry full of people who hate to gamble." This quote feels very accurate! As wannabe published artists, we are playing a game with very long odds--and, boy, do we wish we could beat them. But throwing our projects into the email inboxes of strangers can feel like we are a mascot chicken, handing out flyers on the street. "Picture books--get your picture books!" Of course, the only thing worse than wearing a costume and handing out flyers is when people won't take them--or worse, sneer at you.

We all want the person who reads (or looks at) our hard-won work to be swept away--or, at least, to glimpse its potential. So it's natural to feel disappointed after you put your creative work into a world that doesn't appear to notice initially. Still, I am sometimes surprised at how hard some writers take even decent rejections (meaning those with helpful information attached) or mild critiques or rejections. If we let each setback on our publishing journey get us down, we are in for a very unenjoyable trip because it absolutely will be long and full of rejection--the only way to not be rejected is not to try.

I certainly didn't realize it then, but getting a fair amount of rejection as a kid may have helped me in this regard. Sure, I have bad days...but rejections typically fuel me in the "I can't wait to show them what these stories can do" kind of way (for the most part...I'm only human). Still, people frequently tell me they admire my "put it out there and see" attitude with my work. (Is it overconfidence or less fear of failure? I'm hoping it's the latter. 😉 Time will tell.)

Still, when I get a rejection (whether that is an actual rejection, a critique that seems overly personal, or...worst of the worst...no response at all), two things do definitely help me:

1. When you were a kid, did you ever make anything using papier-mâché? Well, I picture any rejection, "a-little-too" criticism, or non-response as an actual piece of paper. Then, in my mind, that paper gets dipped in a mixture of flour and water, squeezed until it's no longer sopping wet, and gently smoothed onto my back. In this thought exercise, the rejection actually thickens my skin, as if I were an in-progress art piece. I know next time, I will be even stronger. (And that has held true.) Let's call this the "envision turning rejection into art" method.
   

2. I tell myself, truthfully: "Thank goodness you have found a calling you care about this much!" I don't overthink a lot of things, tbh. The response to my writing will never be one of them. That's...a good thing. I say...LEAN IN. That feeling--caring! an awful lot!--is what reminds me that writing is the road, and I am building it. There is a certain zen that comes from surrendering to your authentic self. Let's call this the Craig Middlebrooks from Parks and Rec method (a character that once yelled: "I have a medical condition, all right--it's called caring too much! And it's incurable!")

If neither of those help you out, my next best advice is to channel Judy Blume, who said, "Do not let anyone discourage you. If they try, get determined, not depressed." Put that care into action! Prove naysayers wrong! And, in severe cases, go ahead and use spite as a positive—to kick yourself in the pants to put out your next submission.

Yours protectively,

Elayne

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