By Marlo Garner

Children’s Book Editor | Proofreader

For the final class of my writing courses at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD CE), I bring in a treat to share with my students. Not brownies, not my famous lemon squares, not even a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne, but a nice, thick, teetering pile of rejection letters.

My students all look aghast at first, certain this is a thoroughly depressing way to end the course. I don’t think so—and nor do they once I’ve explained my reasoning.

They’re going to get rejection letters. All writers do. ALL WRITERS. The more rejection letters we get, the closer we get to an acceptance. Each is a necessary step along the journey. Each is a rite of passage, each an opportunity to revise and try again. And after a while, rejection letters do tend to evolve, as I explain to my students, to what we call “positive rejections”— the letters with a handwritten note from the editor, a personally addressed letter, some positive feedback, and ultimately a request for revisions.

There’s always a student who says, “You actually keep them? Why?”

Of course I keep them. I was sifting through the pile recently and found about six “positive rejections” for picture book text I wrote a few years ago. I realized that perhaps I should get that text out and revise it. I know more now. I’m a more skillful writer now. I should take a good look at it and see what I can do to make it viable. Apparently, there’s something there to work with, which I wouldn’t have considered without rereading those old rejection letters.

One thing I always say to my students is: “Rejection is what you make it.”

My first form rejection made me cry. I think. I really don’t remember it well, though at the time I felt that I would never forget the sting. In the 16+ years since then, I’ve had many, many rejections. Somewhere along the way those positive rejections began to arrive, and at some point they outnumbered the form rejections. After a time I gathered a few non-rejections—ooops!—I mean, “acceptances.” But over the years, form letter induced tears gave way to grim smiles, wry laughter, and now just produce indifferent shrugs.

All this is par for the course. And it is a challenging course. It’s not for the faint of heart. It will:

• Bamboozle the uninitiated
• Overwhelm the lazy
• Shrivel up the gutless
• Stymie the passive aggressive faster than he can wail, “It’s not my fault, it’s theirs for not realizing how brilliant my work is!”
• Quickly teach you whether or not you are a quitter. It will teach you if you are really a writer. And only you can decide that for yourself.

Achieving publication requires:

• A vision
• Guts
• Stamina
• Passion
• Hard work
• Learning (and we never stop learning)
• Professionalism
• Niceness
• A hearty dose of blind faith that success is just around the corner… Or the next… Or the next.
• The belief that the journey, the people met along the way, and the countless hours spent learning, creating, crafting, revising, and editing our work are enjoyable and worth it, even if we never get published.

Rejection letters:

• Force you to be a better writer
• Show your developmental arc as a writer
• Teach you to accept rejection with dignity, learn from it, shrug off any pain, and just get on with it. This translates to a useful life skill, I’ve found!
• Let you know you’re gutsy, strong, passionate, hard-working, accepting, professional, and a writer! Isn’t that fabulous?

Because all writers — even those who are already published — get rejection letters. Just Google “author rejection statistics.” When you get your first rejection letter, or if you’re struggling with having received too many, console yourself that you are in great company and you truly what you set out to be — a writer. A writer who someday will be, with perseverance and tenacity and a whole lot of appreciation for your rejection letters, an author.