Why rejection has to hurt

Somewhere in the blogosphere a literary agent was bad-mouthing a writer for asking the agent not to bother sending a rejection letter if they weren't interested in their work - the writer was only interested in good news. Clearly this 'writer' couldn't handle rejection and wasn't the sort of person the agent wanted on their books. We all know that writing is just one long string of rejections – pre-publication, during publication and post-publication, so this person was clearly not cut out for the industry. Right?

Bollocks. Quite apart from the fact that publicly disrespecting those you make your money from is not only deeply unprofessional but extremely distasteful, I think this writer's approach demonstrates the complete opposite – they are in fact dealing with rejection and by assuming it, addressing the reality of it head on.

I guess the agent's demonstrable lack of imagination in not realising this explains why they sell books rather than write them. I wonder if the agent would have cared if the book were brilliant? I wonder if the agent could even tell...

So all power to this writer for trying to take some power back.

We're told that we have to deal with rejection, it's part of the business, we have to be professional. And we have to be told, by the Rejecters, that this is the case. Just in case we hadn't noticed.

We have to be sensitive to the world around us, to understand and interpret peoples' emotions and motivations. We have to examine ourselves and our own lives so we can empathise with others. We have to watch sunsets and sunrises, tempests and heatwaves, we have to feel them, observe them, so we can relate them, the feelings they invoke, the sounds and smell of them. We have to understand our pain, examine our joy, reflect on our desires and our hates and our passions because what is true to us will be true to others.

We have to understand but we also have to feel – craft and wisdom is not enough – we need emotional depth – that joy and pain has to be ripped out of us and invested in our characters and our work, because if it isn't, it will be meaningless shit. And when we've dumped all that rawness on the page we have to work it, and work it, and work it.

And then someone rejects it.

And it's going to hurt. Whatever they say.

But be reassured, it means you are, or are going to be, a good writer. Because if you haven't got that sensitivity, you might as well be an agent.

Why you should give up writing right now

It's a mug's game. Believe me. Here's why:

Nobody takes you seriously

Real person: So you're a writer huh? Wrote anything I would have read?

Writer: I thought you said you didn't read?

Real person: No. Nobody ever does these days, still have I heard of you?

Writer: No, I don't think you would have done...

Real person: Right. So what do you really do?

Writer: I'm a... oh fuck it - I work in insurance...

The money is crap

If you ever make any it's going to be a pittance. The average writer makes 14,000 UKP a year. 14,000. That's right, there's more money in vagrancy.

There's no accounting for taste

There will come a day when you'll finally tell that story as beautifully as you imagined it in your head. It may take you years, it may take you your entire life, but one day you'll do it, and you know what? At least twenty percent of people will still hate it - and that's a conservative estimate – it's more like 25%. Here's the news - most of those 25% work in the publishing industry.

There's a whole industry dedicated to crushing your dreams

The power of fulfilling your dreams lies in the careless hands of others: editors, agents, dramaturgs, directors, critics, reviewers – all there to deter, detest and discourage you from pursuing your hopes and dreams. Most of them failed writers, all of them parasites in the gardens of writers' creativity. All of them self-appointed gatekeepers. Ever bought the Writers and Artists Handbook? Don't bother, it goes like this: 'no unsolicited manuscripts', 'no unsolicited manuscripts', 'no unsolicited manuscripts'. Ok, we get it.

There's a whole heap of rejection

To the point that you either become crushed or sociopathic. Imagine a job where you have thousands of faceless bosses constantly telling you your work isn't good enough, it's just not right, it just doesn't fit, and by the way, you're not getting paid. Dignity at work? That's goddamn inhumane.

So you see, it's time to get the hell out.

Still here? Still going to do it?

Well you best click on the 'join this site' button over there and we'll do it together.

Five things to do between writing projects

The exhilaration you feel at the end of a project can sometimes turn to self-doubt – do I have another project in me? Will I ever have enough new ideas to fuel another? Couple this with the fact that for a writer, not having the intensity of writing normally associated with the end of a project can feel like a withdrawal - there's a temptation to leap into another ill-considered and under-developed project just to feel that you are 'writing' again.

Don't rush into something just to get your writing fix – the next WIP will come along soon enough – take the opportunity to recharge physically, emotionally and creatively. You'll be a better writer for it.

Here are five suggestions for allowing yourself a breather without losing your writing game.

Wallow in (sub) cultural indulgence

You know those dvd box-sets you've been putting off watching because it would eat too much of your writing time? That guilty romance novel you've put aside because it wasn't relevant to the WIP? The sports events you haven't been watching? Get back into them. Treat yourself. You'll feel like you're relaxing but you'll also be involving yourself with stories and drama without it feeling like work.

Return to your inspiration sources

Go back to the things that seed your imagination, the things that make you the person you are, the things that made you want to write in the first place. For me it's music – the abstract yet emotive quality of it makes me feel things that I want to capture in my writing – for you it may be golf. Whatever it is, go back there.

Get some exercise

Your shoulders are hunched and your stomach is pillowing over your keyboard – it's time to offset all that time spent in the writing chair - you'll feel better for it, will probably have more sex, and it will prepare you for the six months of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome required for the next project. The Ancients believed that the body should be exercised along with the mind – and who doesn't want the body of a Greek god?

Get a life

You know those friends you've ignored? With all their life-history and stories and conversation that would not only be fun to hear about but may just provide you with material. Re-connect. Go out, get drunk - interact with that big bad ugly human-race - and get yourself something to write about.

Don't force it

Germinal ideas are like seeds – they need time to grow – you can feed and water them but don't start digging them out before they're ready. There's a temptation when you have the inkling of a good idea to grasp at it – especially when you're looking for the next project – but you may end up throttling it out of existence. Write it down so you don't forget it (which you won't if it really is a good idea) and let it fester away in the back of your mind. Then get back to your golf.