I am not pretending to be any kind of expert on writing rejection. I am by no means a seasoned campaigner, though as I have intimated before, I have no doubt that this will come in time. Nonetheless, the last few weeks have been a little bruising...
I embarked on this year with the intent of writing. Of completing projects, getting my work out there and hopefully getting stuff in print. I am currently writing in a new and relatively unfamiliar form, and I utterly accept that it is going to take me time to find my voice, and to hit on the aspects that resonate with editors and judges alike. My background, and hugely limited success, is in short stories and the start of much longer fiction forms.
Thus far, I have entered competitions, mainly in the flash fiction field. Not for monetary reasons - this is genuinely far from my thoughts, but more because they provide benchmarks and deadlines against which I can measure my re-engagement with writing. I fully intend to submit work to journals and publications too in time.
I won't divulge the competitions I have entered, through respect of the winners and the competitions, but my reactions have been varied.
Every rejection has left me dejected, regardless of the truths about my writing that they forced me to confront. In most cases, though perhaps not all, I could see my work was simply not good enough, and seeing the winning entries provided stark evidence of that fact. There are fantastic writers out there, producing amazing work, and I congratulate and commend them all.
I am however relatively sanguine about my lack of success, once the disappointment fades to resignation - my submissions mark my earliest attempts at flash fiction, relatively unmatured and unedited. They are not going to sparkle as the winning entries so clearly do.
But I have quickly found that the nature of rejection is an important factor. I have appreciated the publications that have indicated a timeframe and stuck to it. They have ripped the plaster off quickly, and in so doing forced me to accept the stark, if subjective truth of their decision.
Finding out sharply, even brutally, is infinitely better than being kept in the dark; suspecting failure but not knowing it. And surely more suited to a flash fiction form?
I am starting to realise and remember why I have not attempted submission for so long. It knocks your confidence, and writing alone, as I am inclined/forced circumstantially to do, does lessen the ability for critical distance. Writing is so subjective, so cryptic, and unyielding alliance to ones own words and phrases so deceiving at times.
But I remain determined. I go again, with revisions and redrafts, with new efforts and ideas. We will see what comes of the next round of distant possibilities...
I embarked on this year with the intent of writing. Of completing projects, getting my work out there and hopefully getting stuff in print. I am currently writing in a new and relatively unfamiliar form, and I utterly accept that it is going to take me time to find my voice, and to hit on the aspects that resonate with editors and judges alike. My background, and hugely limited success, is in short stories and the start of much longer fiction forms.
Thus far, I have entered competitions, mainly in the flash fiction field. Not for monetary reasons - this is genuinely far from my thoughts, but more because they provide benchmarks and deadlines against which I can measure my re-engagement with writing. I fully intend to submit work to journals and publications too in time.
I won't divulge the competitions I have entered, through respect of the winners and the competitions, but my reactions have been varied.
Every rejection has left me dejected, regardless of the truths about my writing that they forced me to confront. In most cases, though perhaps not all, I could see my work was simply not good enough, and seeing the winning entries provided stark evidence of that fact. There are fantastic writers out there, producing amazing work, and I congratulate and commend them all.
I am however relatively sanguine about my lack of success, once the disappointment fades to resignation - my submissions mark my earliest attempts at flash fiction, relatively unmatured and unedited. They are not going to sparkle as the winning entries so clearly do.
But I have quickly found that the nature of rejection is an important factor. I have appreciated the publications that have indicated a timeframe and stuck to it. They have ripped the plaster off quickly, and in so doing forced me to accept the stark, if subjective truth of their decision.
Finding out sharply, even brutally, is infinitely better than being kept in the dark; suspecting failure but not knowing it. And surely more suited to a flash fiction form?
I am starting to realise and remember why I have not attempted submission for so long. It knocks your confidence, and writing alone, as I am inclined/forced circumstantially to do, does lessen the ability for critical distance. Writing is so subjective, so cryptic, and unyielding alliance to ones own words and phrases so deceiving at times.
But I remain determined. I go again, with revisions and redrafts, with new efforts and ideas. We will see what comes of the next round of distant possibilities...