This week’s guest blog is about aspiring author Shelley Hobbs’s experiences with rejection. If you enjoy it, let her know in the comments and also share the post/like it, etc. If you want to write a guest blog (on a subject of your choice), you can email me here


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Apathetic Rejection

by Shelley Hobbs

What is it like to be rejected endlessly for a manuscript that I put my heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears into?

It sucks. Honestly, it does.

I’d like to say that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but actually I’m not sure in this case this is true. It just makes you want to give up. In fact, even the author of Anne of Green Gables, L.M Montgomery, gave up submitting her manuscript after only five rejections and kept it in a hat box before trying again two years later and going on to make history. It happens to us all.

This is the thing with the possibility of rejection: you start strong in the face of it, sending out your first flurry of queries, confident in the knowledge you have a bestseller parked on your hard drive — I won’t give up, I’ll never give up, I just need one agent to realise my novel is as good as I know it is. Finally the day comes when you receive your first rejection letter — and you know it’s going to be a rejection, because everyone (even J.K Rowling) got rejected the first time. It’s expected, so you read it knowing it will be a no, and it is. But at least there’s acknowledgement, and it’s a milestone.

Your first rejection. And it wasn’t so bad.

Scooch forward three months. You’ve now had the responses from your second wave of query letters, or in many cases no response at all. Some have been nice — encouraging even — but most have been bland. Nothing like the rejections you’ve heard about from authors of old.

Herman Melville’s Moby Dick was rejected with: “Our united opinion is entirely against the book. It is very long and rather old-fashioned.” William Golding received a rejection stating that Lord of the Flies was “An absurd and uninteresting fantasy which was rubbish and dull.” This is Lord of the Flies, arguably one of the greatest works of literature of the 20th Century. What hope have we got?

But to be fair I think I’d prefer that kind of response; something to goad me into fighting back rather than the continuous stream of apathy. And that’s the thing with indifferent rejection: you keep plodding on, but little by little the light behind your eyes goes out. And it’s not because it hurts; it’s not because you feel gutted by every letter that says no (because they all do and you kind of get used to it). It’s because it doesn’t hurt. It’s because the lack of reaction fails to stoke the fire of determination. It’s because as many rejections as you receive, there are equally as many people who don’t even bother to reply. Sometimes I just wish I’d get a response that would rev up my indignation; something that would reignite the passion that made me want to be a writer in the first place — something inflammatory, insulting, and even downright offensive would make my day.

But the best I can hope for is a thanks but no thanks (assuming, of course, I don’t get imminently discovered as The Next Big Thing), and rely on my own relentless enthusiasm to send out the third wave of query letters. Which I’ll get round to. Next week. Or next month. But definitely before Christmas.

Definitely.


KmqUX5WGShelley Hobbs is the author of two as yet unpublished novels — Thumbing it and Far From the Tree, neither of which have yet been recognised as bestsellers, works of literary greatness, or even trashy bathroom reads. She lives in Spain with her two cats, and would like to thank her employer for giving her such an undemanding dayjob that she has penned both novels in company time. She will credit them in her acknowledgements when she one day graces the shelves of W.H Smith.

For inspiration on staying strong in the face of apathetic literary rejection, follow her on Twitter: @Theshlobs


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