A Writer's Ritual for Rejection

Guest Blogger

May 31

NOT A GOOD FIT

TAKING A DIFFERENT DIRECTION

DON'T TAKE THIS REJECTION TO HEART

THE TIMING ISN'T QUITE RIGHT

NOT A REFLECTION ON YOU

A HEARTBREAKING DECISION

DOESN'T MEET PRESENT NEEDS

All these phrases come from rejection letters I've received. Not from love interests, but from literary publications. The language around sending in writing for publication—submitting—mirrors the language of dating and relationships. And the rejection can sting nearly as much. No matter how nicely worded, a literary rejection can pierce one's fragile sense of belonging (as a writer, as a person).

I still remember my first rejection letter at age 28. I'd gone to law school because I suspected (rightly) that I'd be good at writing legal briefs, but my true love was creative writing. While clerking for a judge at the Minnesota Court of Appeals, writing bench memorandum and draft opinions, I also compiled a manuscript of poems entitled, Scars of Strange Faithfulness. I submitted it to one contest. I received one rejection letter. I stopped writing. For a decade.

I began writing again in 2009, after discovering blogging (as a relative latecomer). I wrote a blog about imperfect mothering (no longer online) and one where I wrote a poem each Wednesday for a year, ending up with 52 poems. If this blog is still available online (I don't dare look), it's only because I no longer remember my password and can't take it down.

Blogging led to writing a memoir (not published), let to an MFA program, led to numerous literary publications. But I honestly felt more "Writer" in my early days of blogging, when I alone decided to "accept" my words each time I pressed "publish" on a post.

While it's empowering to publish yourself, if you find yourself (as I did), craving the validation of the "academy," I offer you my personal ritual for calming the sting of rejection. (I also, by the way, have a much shorter submission, or "send you off" ritual).

Rituals celebrate movement in one's life. Through engagement with ritual, one can reframe rejections as simply movement (not failure). Honor the answer you received and then, move forward.

To begin, submit an essay to a dream publication today. Then, if the piece (not you) is rejected, begin this ritual (or create your own).

Light a candle to invite your muses into the room. If a candle is not possible, look skyward, to the sun or moon (even if you're inside) and give yourself a moment to appreciate these constant sources of light.
Put your right hand on your heart. Tell yourself tenderly, "I know, I know, I know. This hurts. This feels bad. It won't always feel this bad."
Take out a sheet of paper. Write down words that capture just how badly the rejection feels. I know you've got this one covered; you're a writer.
Read Rumi's poem "A Guest House"—you should be able to find it online with very little trouble. Then tell yourself, "I am being cleared out for a new delight." Repeat this until it begins to feel true. Then say, "Thank you sorrow and rejection. I know you've been sent as a guide to what comes next." Say this too until you begin to believe it (even a small spark of belief).
Sweep the bottoms of your feet with your hands. Three times a foot.
Put on some tunes and dance it out. Here are some of my rejection favorites:[1]
1. Cowboy Junkies "Good Friday" (enough of all this shit);U2 "Gone," or "Mysterious Ways," when "Gone" feels too slow;Simple Minds "Alive and Kicking" and "Sanctify Yourself;"The Pretenders "Brass in Pocket" (got a new Skank);Frazey Ford "Done" (whoa, I'm done); and,
1. Lizzo "Stayin' Alive" and "Good as Hell."
Tear up and toss, or burn, your list of bad rejection vibes (from above).
Inhale slowly (filling up your low belly). Exhale even more slowly, releasing the way you'd hoped things would go. Repeat twice.
Put your left hand over your heart and say, "I welcome movement. I welcome what's next."
Bow briefly and thank your muses (or guides).
Blow out your candle or blow a kiss skyward if you're working without a candle.
Lift the corners of your mouth and nod (your "acceptance").

Begin again … tomorrow.

_________

Heidi Fettig Parton's writing can be found, or is forthcoming, in Brevity, Forge Literary, Fugue, Multiplicity Magazine, North Dakota Quarterly, River Teeth Journal's "Beautiful Things," Sweet Lit, The Manifest-Station, and more. Her Brevity essay, "The Once Wife," was recently nominated for the Best American Essays 2023. More at www.heidifettigparton.com.