Wanting to start the New Year on a flat foot I thought you readers might enjoy learning about the rejection process.  Please, keep
sending out, rejection notes are getting very scarce.  We need
them. 

 

                        REJECTION:  YES OR NO

 

 

 

            Some of us so love rejection that we put ourselves in the

way of it.  We are used to it, we want it, we need it, we take up

occupations where we can be assured of getting it.  It's our

cocaine, our crack.

            I was born when my mother was just beginning menopause.

 We are euphimistically referred to as "change of life babies."

 I'm sure the last thing in the world she wanted was a baby. 

My sister was recovering from rheumatic fever and required constant care,

two male cousins had moved in with us because of the Depression

 My mother's baby brother  (32) lived with us between trips as a steward on the

Cunard line's Bermuda run, and he was so fussy if a shirt wasn't

ironed right, he'd throw it back in the wash.  She let him get

away with it.  Me, I was the one who was rejected.  I was the one

she didn't have the time for, have the heart for.  I know she was

busy.  I'm sorry.  But early on, I learned what life had in store

for me.  Those early lessons are the ones we learn best.

            I grew up in a gypsy way, my parents moving every other

year.  This inures you to being the outsider, the one who doesn't

fit in, the one on the edge, the rejected one.  My parents paid

little attention to me, busy packing and unpacking, planning the

next move.

            When I got into high school I selected boys to like who

never liked me back.  That way I could be sure of a constant

supply of my narcotic.  When I applied for jobs I always applied

for the one I was least likely to get.  Ditto.

            One of my best job rejections was at a manufacturing company

in a small upstate city.  I was collecting unemployment benefits and the

counselor at the State Employment Office sent me out to interview for a

 job in the personnel department.  They made the appointment and

gave me a little card with the time and place  When I arrived the woman

in the office handed me an application to fill out before she would talk to me.

 Fill this out first, she insisted.  The application wanted to know if I was

 allergic to any chemicals, what size smock I wore, if I had any relatives

employed at the company.  It sounded like an application for

working in the manufacturing facility itself, not the office.

I tried to mention it to her, but she was seething about some previous life

which I became the focus for.  The woman behind the desk snatched

the application out of my hands.  I said that I'd been sent about the opening

 in Personnel.  She told me there was no opening in personnel.  And in response

 to my open mouth, she turned her back on me and began shuffling papers on her desk. 

            When I got to the parking lot someone had parked behind my

car, blocking me in.  I went over to the employees entrance and

talked to the guard who called the owner of the car.  As the

owner stormed across the lot toward me, I assumed the position of the

sorry one.  I mentioned that the slots hadn't been marked in any way and I was

sorry if I'd parked in his place.  He said nothing,  got in his

car and peeled out spraying me with gravel.

            When the unemployment counselor asked me how the interview

went, I told him there was no job.  He didn't believe me and

called up to make sure I'd been there.  They couldn't find

my application.  I think I convinced him that I'd been there

because he didn't turn me in for whatever they turn you in for --

missing an arranged interview while collecting unemployment

benefits?    But this experience serves as an example of total

rejection.  There aren't many days in your life that will provide

you with such perfection.

            As if my daily life couldn't provide me with enough rejection I

elected to fancy myself a writer so I could provide myself with

additional rejection on a daily basis.  I was about 22 when I

sent out my first poem.  I sent it to "The New Yorker".  Why not

start at the top.  Better to be rejected by "The New Yorker" than

some lesser rejecter.  When the poem came back with the little

printed rejection card I was so embarrassed I tore it up into

little pieces and fed them out to my wastepaper basket a few

flutters at a time so no one would tape the pieces together and

discover what it was.  I was humiliated by the fact that I'd been

rejected.  I was so young I hadn't yet recognized my destiny.

            Over the years, however,  I've become a connoisseur of

rejection.  Most magazines don't have the resources and

imagination available to compete with manufacturing companies.

They are left with only a little note to do their work for them.

They put you in your ordinary place:  "Sorry, we have decided

against including your work in our magazine"; or, "we are sorry

that the material you submitted is not suitable for our magazine."

Ordinary rejection.  Not much imagination.  The tone is not

arrogant enough to make you angry.  You just stick it in your

drawer after having stabbed it with a pair of scissors several

times and forget it.

            Some magazines send reverse rejections.  They don't want you

to reject them just because they rejected you.  They begin with

sad tales about the millions of envelopes pouring in to their

tiny office, their unpaid staff who do this for the love of

literature, rising printing costs, the times, the state of the

art, etc.  Bad timing. You're not likely to feel sympathy for a

magazine who has just told you "we cannot use the enclosed

material."  

            Some magazines try to combine rejection with a sales pitch:

"Perhaps a sample issue will help you to decide which poems to

send."  I like that one a great deal.  I used it myself during a

brief stint as an editor (rejecter).  Of course I was rejected by

the rejectees (the potential audience/purchaser).  So be it.

            My favorite flattering rejection letter begins:  "your

manuscript has been rejected, but we liked your style and insist

on your sending us more."  Several paragraphs further down is the

hook, "submissions must be accompanied with a ten dollar reading

fee."  No seasoned rejectee will fall for that one.  We'll take

our rejection straight up, thanks.

            My favorite rejection notes are perfectly insulting.  This

takes daring and imagination and such a head full of conceit

there's no room for additional opinions.  These rejecters are at

the top of the class.  They write letters you can revel in.   You

have been put firmly in your place by a master.  These

are the rejection notes which become collector's items.  "Thank

you for your submission, but the judges feel you are not making a

contribution to American letters."  Now that's a rejection.  It's

hard to maintain standards these days. 

            Many rejecters of late are so neutral it's hard to find

anything worth getting riled up about.  However, many editors

scribble little notes at the bottom for you to savor.  My

personal favorite came from a magazine asking for new and

interesting work:  "nothing new or interesting here. . . ."

handwritten on the bottom of the note does wonders for your blood

pressure. Yes.  Good stuff.

            Lately, however, I've noticed an alarming trend in

rejection letters:  Excessive sorryness.  These notes are so

sorry you feel sorry you made them feel sorry by sending them

material.  Don't fall for that.  I want to reassure them -- hey,

don't be sorry.  I send out regularly, alphabetically,

systematically.  You're one magazine on a long list. This doesn't mean you

are not making a contribution to American Letters.  Relax.

However, replying  gets into the dangerous area.  Never respond.  Don't bother.

 Go out and get another rejection, a better one. 

            With the advent of emails you are lucky if you get a rejection

at all.  You just never hear.  At the end of the year you can delete

those past their expiration date.  My favorite email rejection came

with the email addresses and names of all the rejectees in the TO: line.

That’s pretty poor.  I was almost tempted to go online and check

 to see how bad their mag was.   

            As a serious collector.  I have sent to places for no other reason than

they have particularly gruesome, nasty, illiterate or exciting notes:  For

example "Mad" magazine: a full page drawing of Alfred E. Newman

 giving you the finger.  Hard to beat that.

            A little magazine from the 70s called "Vile" sent rejection notes that

said: "not vile enough." I got one. "Kayak" had a picture of a man with his

head in a vise.  Good stuff if a rejection note can provoke a

smile from the rejectee. 

            In the course of a twenty year period of sending out I've collected over

a pound of rejection notes, some printed squares, full page

letters, scribbled "sorry" on a scrap of paper with

indecipherable initials.  I've managed to get my share of what I

needed.  Along the way I've often thought of not sending out.

That would solve the problem of rejection notes entirely, but

it's like rejecting your mother.  You can't do it. Nothing in the

world will change the fact that she's your mother, your biology,

if not your destiny.