Dear Huma: how do you deal with rejection?

Q. Dear Huma, how do you deal with rejection?

I’ve been pitching ideas for magazine features lately and the rejections are hard to take. I find myself feeling all fired up, with lots of ideas for stories for magazine features, and I think YES, I'm going to go for it and send out loads of pitches. So I'll spend some time working on my ideas, crafting a pitch, sending emails out . . . only to be met by silence or a simple no.

I understand from others this is quite normal, especially when you're an unknown name appearing in an overcrowded inbox.

But still, I find myself then crashing and taking the silence/no to mean that my idea was rubbish and tell myself no-one will ever commission me. and what's the point. Do you have any tips for picking oneself up from this slump? Or ideally not even tumbling so low in the first place?

Annabel

A. Dear Annabel,

Everything you’ve said takes me straight back to my journalism days. Not to say that I haven’t experienced rejection as an author too, I have, but with journalism, and the pitching you are talking about, the rejection is rolling, near constant, just as you describe it. Whereas with books, the submission process means that (usually) all the feedback will come in at a similar time, so you can at least try and mentally prepare for the knock backs, and if you have an agent, they will likely vet the responses for you first and protect you from the worst of it. It makes the whole process of rejection kinder.

But you don’t have that in journalism. There is no lovely literary agent to screen your emails; it’s just you and a commissioning editor who often won’t have time to type your name in the reply. All of which to say, I understand, and I’m really sorry you’re feeling this way.

Your question is about rejection but also, I think, about self-worth and confidence and all of those things.

Professional rejection is like romantic rejection.

You get all your hopes up, but then in one blow, someone says no, and then all your insecurities, even the ones unrelated to the situation in hand, stir right back up again. And so begins that cycle of self-doubt, of questioning your choices, believing you’re not good enough, feeling stupid for ever having thought you stood a chance in the first place. This one rejection suddenly becomes everything, solid proof that nothing ever goes right for you, or that it’s all over before it’s even started. In other words, the rejection becomes us. We become our rejection.

This is pretty much how I always used to feel after rejections too. Certainly when I was starting out, in my twenties, I took rejection very personally. In my mind, it wasn’t my ideas being rejected, it was me. I felt so ashamed because I thought it meant I was a failure. To me, rejection was failure. I was very hard on myself.

Maybe it’s because I’m so much older now (ha!) and I’ve learnt to finally feel proud of what I have achieved in a way that I never did before, I have learnt to no longer take things quite as personally as I once did. I don’t think rejection is failure. So remember, it’s really not a reflection of you.

Though it’s hard, sometimes rejection is necessary.

It helps us redirect our focus and sometimes that redirection might lead to successes elsewhere. This article by Sophie Mackintosh (the same Sophie Mackintosh who is now on the Women’s Prize longlist) really helped me reframe my thinking, back in 2019 when a collection of essays I wrote failed to sell. I had no idea then that actually it wasn’t all over, and my next three books would go on to be published. She writes:

‘Could we start reframing rejection as something necessary, even desirable – not shameful, but an important step on the artistic journey? Rejection doesn’t automatically mean falling short; it can mean that risks are being taken, that you’re innovating. At the very least, it means that you’re trying.’

This isn’t to say that I’m now amazing at dealing with rejection, but I do think I have a little more perspective on it now than I did when I was, say, twenty-eight and having panic attacks about rejection on a regular basis in my kitchen.

My advice?

Hard as it may sound, try not to dwell on things. If you’re expecting news about a pitch you’ve sent out, don’t punish yourself and refresh your emails constantly. I used to do this a lot. But now I don’t. I don’t know if it’s a conscious thing, or if I simply just don’t have the time anymore. But either way, it’s helpful, to forget about something. I don’t know if there are any tactics you can use for this. Pitch, but then move on to something else quickly? Maybe you can make a deal with yourself - ‘I’ll send three pitches, but then I’m not going to think about them because I’m going to write for my blog/ newsletter/ Substack instead!’The act of redirecting your energy into something that you don’t need permission for, and yet is still something that matters to you and makes you feel good about your writing, will, I hope, help.

I joked up above that freelance journalists don’t have people to vet their emails for them. But you can vet your own! I used to make folders in my inbox, for different publications, partly to keep my inbox tidy but also so that I wouldn’t have to see a rejection as soon as it landed. So, let’s say I sent a pitch, and an editor emailed me to reject it, I didn’t have to see that email immediately. I could steel myself for it, take a minute, then open it when I felt like I was in a good enough place to deal with the possible rejection it might have conveyed.

I’m not saying I recommend this (it was very time-consuming to set all those filters up!) but the real reason I’m telling you this is: it was a way to look after myself.

Can you find a way to protect yourself, be kind to yourself?

If you know what triggers you, what can you do to lessen the blow? Give yourself the pep talk you need before you open those pesky emails. Have that piece of chocolate if that email is the no you think it is. (Although, here’s a thought, one of those emails might actually bring good news, too).

There’s a spiritual way of thinking which goes something like this: ‘If something is meant for me, it’ll happen. If it doesn’t it’s because something else is intended for me.’ More and more, I simply truly believe this. I look back at all the things I once wanted so, so badly, and I realise now how much happier I am without them. That collection of essays I had so hoped would be published? Honestly, I’d be embarrassed if it was. This mindset really helps me when things don’t work out. Maybe it will help you?

Your time will come

More spiritual thinking (sorry): something else that helps me at times when, say, prizes or shortlists are announced, is to remember every time I’m not on them, that my time will come. My time will come. From what I understand from your letter, you’re just starting out with pitching. Be patient. Trust yourself. Rejection is entirely normal. Everyone, especially in writing, goes through it. Your time will come.

Most of all, I’d say: don’t give up. I know at times it will feel pointless and worthless and like a big waste of energy; but don’t give up. Don’t give up because of some moron who can’t be bothered to do you the decency of typing you a proper reply. (Also, it’s okay to call people morons when they’ve rejected you and be a little indignant, we’re all entitled to that).

But let the indignance drive you. See every pitch as practice. And every rejection as practice. Work on your pitches; craft, craft, craft. Read everything you can about the art of pitching and feature writing. Read all the articles you wish you’d written, and ask yourself what you can learn from them. Ask questions. Be hungry. Be bold. Persevere and be determined. Because eventually, a door will open. And if you are constantly putting yourself out there, constantly trying to better your craft, it will. It has to.

In this beautiful piece, which possibly answers your question more eloquently than I have, novelist Aja Gabel wrote:

‘It isn’t because we think we’re better than we are. It’s because we hope we can become better than we are, and we love the thing we’re working towards. Trying in the wake of rejection is a kind of faith.’

Trying in the wake of rejection is a kind of faith.

It’s a faith worth believing in.

I hope this helps,

Huma x