A Personal Rejection



When a writer gets a personal rejection letter from a publisher, it’s a good thing—kind of. Many of us spent years working our way to this point: First to submitting at all; then form rejections; then maybe a rejection with a scrawled note.
A science fiction magazine I once submitted to would reply with a list of common story problems: The slush pile reader would underline the particular problem that got me rejected. Over the years I got a lot of underlines. But now that most submissions go e-mail, that kind of personal contact is less common.
So actual written content from an editor shows how far you came, and also shows you came this close to getting in. It’s like getting a silver medal: Yeah, you were a close second, but you’re not going to be on a Wheaties box.
Because it’s still a rejection, dammit.
I got a letter from a major romance publisher, about my submission of Coming Attractions. They really enjoyed my characters and setting. Unfortunately, that one line was followed by a very long paragraph of what they didn’t like. My characters and setting got me there, and everything else got me back.
And then there was that very short sentence at the end: “Should you choose to revise this project, you are welcome to resubmit it for consideration.”
Oh?
Now, I spent weeks revising Coming Attractions once before, at the request of an even more major romance publisher … in fact, the major romance publisher. Feeling I hadn’t addressed their main problem enough, they ultimately rejected me. And to show the vagaries of the writing industry, this new rejection didn’t even mention what the first publisher objected to. Publisher 2 had a whole new list of problems, some of which made sense and some of which I didn’t really agree with.
In order to make the new publisher happy, I’d have to completely remove most of the last third of the novel, which means writing new material to fill out the word count. My dilemma: Spend at least several weeks tearing the novel completely apart and stitching it back together again (with no guarantee of an acceptance), or send it on to another publisher, or self-publish.
I wrote the first draft of this novel years ago, and I’ve been trying to sell it since 2010. In other words, there aren’t that many traditional publishers who haven’t already seen it. That leaves small publishers or self-publishing, which leads to the next question:
Was the novel not right just for this publisher? Or is it not good enough at all? I have my opinion … but I’m the writer, and this is my baby, and my opinion is suspect.
These are the problems that drive writers to drink, or at least to chocolate. I’m going to go into a little more detail about the book itself, and the latest rejection, in a future post—so you can help me decide.

12 comments:

  1. Makes you feel like you're running in circles.

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  2. Publishers' reasons for rejecting a project don't always have anything to do with the quality of the project. And these days, it's even tougher to break in than it was when I started. I hear they don't always pay advances anymore, and unless you get a publisher who loves your work enough to give you a big push, your chances aren't really any better than if you self-publish. Since self-publishing has become so popular, the market's a whole lot bigger than it used to be.

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    1. Yes, the market--and the competition! And you're absolutely right about advances: I have four traditionally published books, and none received an advance.

      The good thing about a personal rejection is that you actually do get an idea as to why they rejected you -- not because your submission arrived on a Monday morning, or they just got into a fight with their spouse, or so on.

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    2. I wasn't sure about one thing. You said after the first rejection, you made changes and sent it to another publisher. Why didn't didn't you send it back to the editor who invited you to re-submit? Your chances of a sale would have been better there.

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    3. I must not have been clear enough: I made the requested changes and sent it back to that same publisher, which ultimately rejected me, saying I didn't address their main problem with the female protagonist. It was only after their final rejection that I sent it to the second publisher--who had a whole different list of problems, so maybe I did correct the first one enough.

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  3. I can't say go to Creativia as they are not accepting new authors. It sounds like they want you to target it for their audience (whatever-whoever they are). I'll wait until I see the other to say self-publish.

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    1. I suppose once a publisher has obtained a big following, you can understand them wanting to cater to it to a degree.

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    2. Editors have to pitch manuscripts they want to publish to the publisher's editorial committee (at least they do in the big publishing houses). Even if they really love a project, they have to convince everyone else on the team. They can't always buy a book, no matter haw much they might love it--it has to fit what they need for their list. There are usually 2-3 lead titles, a number of midlist books, and the genre titles, like series romances. When I was at Berkley, there were four imprints--Berkley, Jove, Charter and Ace. They had two leads for each imprint--I was the second lead for the Berkley imprint, usually behind Robin Cook or Dale Brown, so I got a lot of advertising, promotion, and marketing money. But that changed when I left. My first four books were sent to Publishers Weekly for reviews. Galley copies were sent to newspapers and reviewers all over the country. Book #5, Luck of the Draw, wasn't published until after we'd officially severed ties. It got no promotion, no ads, nothing.

      It's a gamble.

      My agent, a former editor herself, explained to me that when a publisher buys an author's project, they're not interested in just publishing a single book. They're looking to make a long-term investment. The author is viewed as an asset.

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    3. Exactly the same stuff I've learned in my research. I get the feeling I never quite made it to the editorial committee, though. I'd be happy to be a major publisher's long-term investment!

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  4. This is exactly why I'm addicted to chocolate.

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    1. Hm ... I think there are some M&Ms in the cabinet ...

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