Rejection Connection (The Writing Life)

Andrea Scarpino

Los Angeles

Even though I’ve never played sports, I used to love listening to David Citino, my advisor at Ohio State, talk sports, the way he saw poetry in the swing of a baseball bat, the way he described a final second touchdown. As my advisor, David gave me innumerable pep talks that could have come straight out of a locker room (if the locker room in question was one where poetry mattered). My favorite ended with a quote from Wayne Gretzky: “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

I’ve been thinking about that quote often these past couple of weeks, as journal rejection letter after journal rejection letter has found its way into my mailbox. Rejections are an integral part of publishing poetry; everyone will tell you that. Well-known journals may publish less than 1% of the submissions they receive, which I imagine means I’m more likely to get struck by lightening and die in a plane crash on the same day than have them select my poems for publication. I know all this, but still, when a string of rejection letters comes my way, it becomes harder and harder to brush them off, it becomes harder and harder to keep sending out work.

Especially when there are so many ways to be rejected: the soulless statement on cardstock that could have been processed by robots, the handwritten note saying something to the effect of “your poems almost made it in this issue. Thanks anyway.” I’ve received a rejection letter in which the editor took the time to tell me my poems were all lists and he prefers poems that “say something.” Of course, there’s also the email rejection that I’ve opened first thing on a Saturday morning. And the rejection that appeared in my inbox less than 24 hours after I submitted my work. And the disemboweled rejection that was so torn up and stained it looked like the awfulness of my work personally affronted the reader.

Of course, every writer has these stories. Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time was initially rejected for publication (by Andre Gide). So was George Orwell’s Animal Farm (rejected by T.S. Eliot). For most of us, submitting to literary journals is at least sometimes an exercise in futility. But we spend the time and take the risk and pay the postage because sometimes we succeed.

In the past couple of months, I’ve been failing more than I’ve been succeeding. I keep thinking about Wayne Gretzky, of whom I know almost nothing aside from his quote. I keep thinking about David’s pep talks. So I keep folding my little poems in the mail and telling myself I’m taking the shot, I have to keep taking the shot. And eventually my shots will meet their mark again.

Andrea Scarpino is the west coast Bureau Chief for POTB. You can visit her at:

www.andreascarpino.com

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto