#rejection letters

[arrynnat]

Magazines: *send me rejection letters through email*

Me:

[catchdacraze]

Over 100 Rejection letters! But this one changed my life! Artist Vlog

[ebookporn]

Rejection Letters was founded in April 2020 by D.T. Robbins. It was kind of a joke at first. “Let’s publish fictional rejection letters!” Of course, this was after getting, like, four or five rejection letters in one day—we all cope in our own weird ways—but then it became something else, something I’m not too sure how to describe, to be honest.

[majorbullmoose]

I've started calling this month "Hot Form Rejection January".

I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. Never a decision, writing is just a thing that I am.

Long ago I realized that my greatest asset as a writer is that I can take rejection on the chin like a derby girl. Sure it hurts. But I want to be in the rink. Let it hurt. I'll keep my skates on anyway.

I've gotten rejected A LOT as a writer. Not just my work but the very foundation of how I perceive human existence. It's too easy to spiral out. It's too easy to start twisting myself into knots. Or start picking myself apart to try to find what is so personally rejectable about me. I've seen fellow writers absolutely unravel and I get it.

But now it's "Hot Form Rejection January" (A perverse holiday to be sure). I have written a couple of stories that are polished and beautiful. Truly the best finished pieces I've ever made. I've submitted the stories out to publishers/contest/whatnots. While they had some successes in early rounds, inevitably the form rejection letter arrives...

...and it doesn't hurt? Well, it does but the nuance is different. I don't find myself wondering what is so rejectable about me. I'm just happy to have been alive with my stories. To have the chance to advocate for my writing. I'm getting multiple rejection letters a week at this point and it's not slowing me down because I'm so happy to be with my writing.

I guess what I'm saying is happy "Hot Form Rejection January" to anyone else celebrating.

[danklefstad-blog]

Re: Your Intern Who Rejected My Book

Dear Publisher,

Many thanks for responding to my manuscript query. Even though it took 11 months, two weeks, and three days for your reply to arrive, and even though it was clearly a form email, I’m grateful that your college intern took the time to read my sample pages while watching TikTok videos and snapping Instagram images of freshly painted fingernails. Such multi-platform multitasking is perfect preparation for this new world where nouns are distilled into memes, feelings are reduced to emojis, and attention is measured in GIFs. I hope you’re paying your primary gatekeeper an adequate wage to share a studio apartment in Brooklyn with no more than three other future captains of the content creation industry formerly known as publishing.

I hate to intrude on your Facebook time, but I would like to point out a few of your junior staffer’s notes, presumably meant to help with my future submissions. Please understand I’m not trying to get anyone into trouble. I merely want to confirm whether these “edits” reflect the new industry standard for composition worthy of today’s audience.

Firstly, your intern changed all gender pronouns to they/them. While I consider myself an ally of transgender and non-binary persons, I maintain some readers might find it useful to know whether a character identifies as “he” or “she” or is biologically so. If you feel otherwise, I’ll admit this is not a hill I’m willing to die taking, as we’re only talking about pronouns.

Secondly, any reference to sexual attraction, or even intercourse, has been removed. It seems your apprentice feels my main characters would appeal more broadly to Generation Z if they identified as “ace” which, after consulting a source called Urban Dictionary, I learned means asexual. No offense to those not interested in sex but how does your intern think people arrive on this planet? Dropped by aliens? Maybe it’s time we bring back the old trope of the stork carrying a swaddled babe in its beak. For the remainder of this letter I’ll refer to the younger cohort as storks — and I don’t care if they view this as a micro-aggression. I am the one who feels attacked and I seek, nay, I demand answers as to what our industry’s standards really are.

Trigger warning: A complaint about trigger warnings is imminent. Are you in a safe place, emotionally speaking, to read my third objection? Allow me tread lightly so as not to bruise your feelings. Okay, I’ll admit this preamble is insensitive. But seriously: Where do we draw the line between a reader’s right not to re-live trauma and my right to inject realism into a story? In my case, your employee went too far when striking an entire scene in which an injured horse is euthanized by its owner. Shooting a lame steed was common practice in the 18th century, and my depiction of this act was meant to portray the owner as a sensitive and merciful man. However, this proved far too much for your stork who apparently still suffers from PTSD after a veterinarian put down a beloved “fur baby.” My lack of a warning seems to be the main reason my manuscript was declined. For your intern’s sake I’ll thank God they didn’t read the part where the man, who was starving, ate his horse so that he could survive a harsh winter.

Please understand that I deeply empathize with anyone who had to say goodbye to a beloved pet. And I would accept the inclusion of a trigger warning for this scene if it increases my odds for getting published. But what about other passages such as a battle devolving into brutal hand-to-hand combat? Or a character’s death from dysentery? Adding warnings to each of these chapters would yank the reader out of the immersive experience I carefully curated for them. I hope you’ll agree that not every chapter in a book should be filled with “happy place” things.

My final complaint focuses on your stork’s lack of knowledge, even complete disregard, for American history. Here I’ll need to burden you with another detail about my novel: It features Thomas Jefferson as a recurring character. In my story Mr. Jefferson is presented as a complex, flawed human of his time who literally owned Black Americans, some of whom he used for sex, the most famous being Sally Hemings. To my astonishment the stork you hired as the sieve for incoming manuscripts insisted I was wrong. Thomas Jefferson, she wrote in all caps, WAS A BLACK MAN. When I shouted back at these words my daughter informed me that a Black actor plays Jefferson in the original cast of Hamilton, a play she has seen numerous times on the Disney channel. My daughter’s praise for the production was drowned out by my alarm that the person you put in charge of acquisitions looked no further than a Broadway musical for fundamental facts about our nation.

Having vented enough for now I wonder if my blame is aimed at the wrong target. What if the education system is the real culprit? Or Gen Z’s parents? Regardless, I do believe you’d be well served to occasionally double-check the writing samples your intern rejects. No need to do this with mine, however. I’ve given up and am exploring other avenues to “boost awareness among content consumers” of my “creative offerings.” God, just reading those words makes me feel dead inside. Still, I’ll focus on greener pastures like my YouTube channel in which I read rejection letters and offer comments similar to what you’ve read here. So far only a dozen people have subscribed but I’m predicting thousands of writers will sign up once my social media posts get enough shares. I’m still researching the best hashtags to optimize my Google-friendliness or whatever they call it. I do find some comfort in this practice as it still involves the careful selection of words.

Would you like to increase your media profile? Join me on my channel. I’d love to get your opinion about where our industry is headed and whether books can still maintain a place in this new landscape. And if the person reading this is in fact the intern who stars in the previous paragraphs, I mean no insult. What’s more, I’ll bet you’d be a far more entertaining guest than your boss — or me, for that matter. We could talk about Hamilton, pronouns, triggers, whatever you want. You’re the future, after all. Those who write should know who you are and what content you prefer.

If, during our chat you scroll through Instagram or TikTok, all I ask is that you share your distractions with our viewers. I realize I’d risk being a bystander on my show. But I need to know if my words still have relevance. Perhaps you’d be doing me a favor by putting me out of my misery. Just do it quickly and as painlessly as possible. And be sure your rising star executes a full eclipse so my remains are shielded from sensitive eyes. Not to put too fine a point on it but don’t eat me because that would get you banned from all platforms, possibly forever.

What’s that? Of course, vegan. Please excuse my lame and inappropriate attempt at humor. And may your words succeed where mine have failed.

Author.

[veronicaleighauthor]

Dear Agent:

I received your original rejection letter earlier this month. You don't have to send another. I got the message loud and clear.

Also, please don't feel like you have to send a third rejection letter. You don't have to beat this dead horse.

Sincerely,

The Author

[pangur-and-grim]

I spotted an anthology I wanted to enter, with submissions closing at midnight, and so I sped-wrote something to send in. is it a good story? no. but is it emailed to a human being who will have to read it now? yes!

it's about a guy whose racehorse dies, but he still wants to make money off the stud fees, so he uses babylonian curse-magic from 4chan to bring it back to life and then it immediately kills him and then dies again. i don't think there's much of a point or a moral, it's just funny to have a story where the same horse dies twice.

[catcze]

NO BC LISTEN.

WIRO REACTING TO HIS CRUSH/LOVER WEARING A SUIT. LIKE IT FITS THEIR FRAME SO PERFECTLY AND SNUGLY AND WDYM “WHY IS HE LOOKING” OFC HE’S LOOKING LIKE HELLO???

I can’t tell if he would shameless let his eyes roam or would avoid looking at them KDIDKSKSK WIRO BRAINROT IS SO REALL

KAJNSDSA BROOO OMG okokokok something along the lines but 👀

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

You're fiddling with the cuffs of your suit as you exit the changing room, a frown on your face. You're nervous— of course you are! It's not often that you're invited to a high-profile, black-tie event like this, and you'd rather not stick out like a sore thumb.

Wriothesley, who sits comfortably in a plush armchair, has been invited before though. But time and time again he's turned down the invites with some of the most ludicrous excuses. 'A monster is attacking the fortress' is one of his most used ones, closely followed by 'a bird shat on the shoulder of my suit.' But you wonder why he's accepted this time, despite his distaste for the limelight. Well, you shrug, pocketing the thought for later. At least you won't be going alone.

"What do you think?" You pose the question to him, still frowning as you look down at yourself. Did you look okay? Was the fit alright? Did this color wash you out? You had splurged on this (well. Wriothesley splurged on this, technically. He had said it's a gift) and had the suit custom-done, so it should fit your measurements to an exact, but... you frown, not able to shake off the nerves.

And it doesn't help that Wriothesley hasn't said anything since you've stepped out, either. Merely stares at you, eyes roaming your figure. Even at your question, he acts like he hadn't even heard it. Does the suit look that bad?

"Wrio?"

That seems to reach him, and he blinks, finally registering that he's been staring at you— and that you've begun to stare back.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, it looks nice on you. The tailor did a very good job," he says, glancing away, hoping you don't see the red tinge to his cheeks or his ears.

"Really?" You ask, evaluating yourself in the mirror with a frown. "I don't know. I feel like I look like a mess."

"if you look like a mess, then I dread to think what I look like," he says, glancing at you for a second, getting an eyeful of you in that damn good suit, and feels his mouth dry up again. Wriothesley turns his eyes to the corner of the room, finding the fake palm plant there incredibly interesting. Barely more interesting than you. In that very flattering suit. It emphasizes your body very well, he thinks. Makes him see just enough of you while still leaving some to the imagination. And the color you chose for it... red and black, to match what he'll wear, you said. He sighs, troubled, because just the mere memory of it has his heart racing and his palms sweating.

You keep criticizing your reflection for a while longer, and it takes just enough time for Wriothesley to work up the self-control to look your way. "You look good," he says at last. Then clears his throat. His face feels hot. "Better than good, even. You don't have anything to worry about, I promise."

It placates you, because you finally give your own reflection a rest. You back away from the mirror, humming. "If you say so. Thank you, Wrio," you tell him, flashing him a small, shy smile just before you back up into the changing room once more to take it off.

Once you're out of the vicinity, Wriothesley drops his head into his palms, groaning softly.

if he's this much of a mess around you at a fitting, he wonders how much of a fool he could make himself at the actual event.

[saint-end]

"Yulia is the keeper of the hooks I may use to take hold of Eva’s soul."

[aroaceleovaldez]

Something something Jason feeling like he doesn't quite fit as "Greek" or "Roman" as a metaphor for bisexuality, particularly the semi-canonical bi-coding in his half of experiences during the Cupid scene and how Favonius and Cupid speak to him in parallel to the scenes confirming Nico is gay.

Something something the camps as metaphors for traditionally acceptable forms of relationships and Nico living as a rogue outside of them, rejecting expectation (ergo in himself representing a metaphor of queer identity and living outside of boxes and defined/usually hetero-allonormative/binary ideas of what love/relationships should look like) versus Jason struggling with the expectation to conform to a label and even discussing with Nico both of them remaining at CHB together.

Something something the inverse of Jason shifting away from the camps after he breaks up with Piper, feeling lost and unable to find a place between the camps as he begins to explore his queer identity properly for the first time versus Nico only remaining at CHB because he has entered a relationship. In this essay I will-

[chipsontheside]

everything went downhill ever since they stopped featuring semi-famous rock bands in coming of age films.

[torturedtraveler]

dear xx univeristy application office,

Listen, I know I've been rejected and this personal statement is not going to mean anything. But I feel like writing it, as a reflection of the past few months.

With what happened in middle school, I got diagnosed with depression and anxiety and transferred schools. I started dating a friend but broke up shortly after. One day he jumped from our school building and passed away (he had bipolar), it felt like a slap across my face and from then on, I gave up on myself.

I stopped showing up to class consistently and socializing. Until one day in Form 6, I realized, I didn't understand any of the things my teachers were saying in class and I would have my IB exams in less than a year. I couldn't catch up, I couldn't do it. Again, I was impulsive and have always been so I decided to just quit IB and start A-Levels. Fast forward a few months, I found out that I still couldn't do it, because of my mental health, I couldn't pull through, and in the midst of it, my grandpa passed away. These all piled up on me again and I had to quit, again. I took one A-Level and IELTS and decided to apply for associate degree programs. I chose translation originally because I am fluent in both English and Chinese and I have always wanted to do something related to languages. However, something shifted in me one day, I applied to the same colleges but instead, in Psychology.

I went through what I would call "hell" in those 5-6 years in secondary, I struggled every day with mental health, with depression, with anxiety, and I wanted to do something in the future that could help kids like me. In fact, XX College gave me a conditional offer but unfortunately, my academic qualifications did not meet their requirements (probably because I didn't graduate from a secondary school) just like how I didn't meet your requirements and am not what you wanted. Fortunately, my current College accepted me for my qualifications and there I started my tertiary education.

The school year started off great and strong. I was attending classes every day, socializing with my classmates, handing in assignments, all these things I NEVER managed to do consistently in high school.

My family and friends were shocked about the transformation. I was actually working hard in school.

Hey, I know a 3.26 GPA might have not been the best and you were probably expecting something higher, but that wasn't what mattered, what mattered was, I changed. I started taking my academics seriously, even through hard days, when I felt tired and depressed (occasionally), I showed up to class and did my work, and I made friends, which again, was shocking considering I developed social anxiety after I was bullied in high school for my ex-boyfriends' suicide.

However, my anxiety got worse near the end of the first semester and I had to postpone my final requirements, nonetheless, I finished them at the start of semester B.

I don't know what went wrong from there, but it was obvious that my mental health was getting bad again because I wasn't showing up to class and I wasn't paying attention in class. Though I was still handing in assignments and working hard on them, I wasn't showing up to class consistently. I only acknowledged the decline of my mental health at the start of March, when I started isolating myself again and stopped talking to my mom, who has always been my best friend. Fast forward to my second mid-term test, I thought I would feel less pressured after finishing it, but nope, it only went downhill from there. I didn't show up to class for 2 consecutive weeks. My mom was asking me if I was okay, and my friends were asking me why I wasn't showing up to class. I repeatedly reassured them I was fine, I just needed some time off for myself, but in reality, I was only trying to reassure myself that I was fine because I refused to admit that I was having a relapse. I didn't want to accept it, I was doing so fine for so long, I was getting so much better, and everyone was praising me for it, what could go wrong? Well, reality sucks, and sometimes, depression creeps its way back into your life with no apparent reason.

April was when things got really bad, depression was presenting itself in physical ways. I caught a cold, and it got better after 3 days, but then I had abdominal pain, which escalated to stomachache. It was one of the worst physical pain I have ever felt in my life, I had a low fever and I could not stand up, my mom wanted to call the ambulance and get me to the hospital but I refused because I knew I had to wait to see the doctor and my pain would just worsen. I saw a doctor the next day and he informed me that it was gastroenteritis. I had to stay home for a few days because I was still in some level of pain. I was forced to put down my academics for a while. Aphthous ulcer found its way to my mouth later (and I actually still do have it at the current moment), and now I can't even have a proper meal without being in pain.

The physical symptoms weren't the worst part. Do you know that feeling of working on an assignment one day in an empty room in the school library on a Saturday afternoon, listening to jazz and making good progress, and all of a sudden you stared at a blank wall and started bawling your eyes out? That's what happened to me. I experienced that consecutively for a week. Just completely random moments in life, you were feeling fine the last second, and the next, you were crying for your dear life.

I was in the shower once and suicidal thoughts consumed my mind, I was bombarded with all the ways I could end my life, jumping off a building, hanging myself, cutting myself, etc. I felt despairful, worthless, exhausted, all the worst emotions you could possibly think of, and was just ready. Ready for me to leave because I had no worth, I wasn't showing up to class and it was reflected in my grades. I mustered up the strength to call in my mom because for a split second there I still wanted to hold on, I didn't want to give up just quite yet.

All these were happening, because I had so much pressure on my shoulders, that I imposed on myself, to get a high GPA, to get into a prestigious university in my city, to get into XX Univeristy. I didn't want to spend 2 years in community college and wanted to ascend to university as fast as I could.

I received your university's rejection yesterday, and let me tell you, yesterday was an awful day. To start with, rains flooded the streets near my school campus, even under an umbrella I was drenched, from head to bottom. I arrived on campus completely soaked, with water in my shoes. At that point, I was already depressed (bad weather could seriously affect your mood), nonetheless, I told myself "It was a bad experience, but that will not dictate your day, you still have a full day ahead of you", so I mustered a smile on my face and went straight to class. I was chatting with friends as it was the last class and we were all just doing revisions. I went to the library shortly after.

I wasn't as productive as I wanted to be because 1) I wasn't motivated and 2) Depression can really interfere with your daily life functioning, for example, doing work. I didn't get as much done as I wanted to so I decided, maybe it was time to go home.

I took the train, I bought myself dinner, I grabbed the mail, I went home. I sat down, with my dinner in front of me, and opened up the application portal on my laptop.

The word "unsuccessful" was under my application status and into my eyes.

I kid you not, I felt like my life had ended right there. Everything that I had worked so hard for, all the pressure I had imposed on myself to get a high GPA, to get into a prestigious university, and the high hopes that I had, all faded in one single moment.

I called my mom screaming and crying, shouting into the phone about how miserable I was, I was in so much pain. I couldn't think straight and my mom reassured me that she was on her way home. She arrived, grabbed a chair, and sat next to me.

Essentially our conversation went on for about 45 minutes, and I remember distinctly, one of the things she said was, "So? That's it?". It was a wake-up call for me.

All this time, the amount of pressure I've put on myself, the sleepless nights I've had to experience, the physical symptoms, the mental symptoms, etc. All because of one number that I ignorantly thought would dictate my future. I lost sight of what I originally did this for. In working towards getting into university to get a degree where I could help people, I ironically forgot to help myself. I lost sight of what was important in the current moment, my priority is not yet to help others struggling with mental health, it's me, I'm struggling with my mental health, I am my priority. I neglected my mental health and what I truly needed, it wasn't grades, it was self-love. Caring for myself, listening to my needs, attending to myself, and acknowledging that I was struggling.

It's okay to relapse. It's okay to know that you need help. It's okay that you're depressed again even if you thought you didn't have depression anymore. It's okay that it's near finals season but you're mentally struggling, maybe you need to postpone again, and that's okay. Do you know why? Because we're humans, and it's okay to not be okay.

All these years of struggling, I haven't done much with my life and I desperately wanted to prove to myself and everyone else, that for once, I could do something, I am capable of something. I wanted to get into a university, a prestigious one, the top in my city, to redeem myself. Because my sister got into a good university, and my friends from high school got into good universities. I NEED to prove to people that I am not dumber than them, just because I wasted a few years in secondary school doesn't mean I am less smart than them. I can still get into university.

I am just as good. Not because of good grades or whether I am in a good university or not though. I am a good person because I have a good heart, I care for everyone around me deeply and I'm always there for them even if I'm struggling. I am a good person because I have a passion, I want to work hard to achieve my passion and help people professionally. I am a good person because I have hobbies, I have things I enjoy doing and I do my best to advance my skills, and to work hard to achieve small goals in life.

I am a good person because I haven't given up on myself yet. 6 years of depression and anxiety, and countless times standing on a ledge, wanting to jump but convincing myself not to.

Because my ultimate goal in life is to be happy, I know there will be bad days and bad experiences, some days might feel like the end of the world (just like yesterday), but some would feel like I'm floating on cloud 9. That doesn't equal a bad life. And I'm learning to accept that.

I want to be surrounded by people I love, loving them back in the same way so they know they're not alone because they were there for me when I was at my lowest. I am the happiest when I'm loving, I'm giving, and when I'm learning. Psychology is something I'm passionate about, not the GPA system. What I should do in the current moment is to learn, enjoy the process, and work hard to show my teachers, and myself, that I have done my best with what I've learned.

Thank you for your rejection. Your wake-up call. If it weren't for this, I wouldn't have realized what I was doing wrong this whole time and I probably would've stayed in that same position for a while. I'm taking it day by day now, and I'm getting better, and that's what truly matters.

My deepest gratitude for reviewing my application and considering it. Also for reading this if you have.

Thank you, I truly, deeply, appreciate it.

Warmest regards

[ruhlare]

i long for what i fear most; human connection. when someone wants to hold my hands, i clench my fists without realizing it. words that are meant to reach my heart don't find their way as i effortlessly filter out what i wouldn't bear to hear. when it comes to revealing parts of myself, it feels like every part of me disappears in a matter of seconds.

[skyriderwednesday]

I am... slowly coming to believe that Lady Frances Carfax is pre-Hiatus... Maybe even pretty early canon.

Current evidence (based on the first LFW part for this story):

Holmes thinks it's weird that Watson went to the Turkish Baths. (Holmes likes the Turkish Baths, he goes there with Watson! Unless this is before they start doing that, that is)

The story starts with Holmes explaining a simple series of deductions to Watson, which is much more common in stories set earlier on

Holmes is extremely casual about sending Watson out of the country on his own, which is odd considering how protective he tends to be of Watson in later stories (save when he sends him off to the middle of nowhere with a murderer, but I guess he figured that Amberley was no match for his Watson)

(Holmes is being weird about leaving the country in general, which could point to this being post-Hiatus, but at the same time it could just be the Holmes Genes - those which, for instance, make Mycroft stick to a routine so rigid it would be seen as a security risk these days)

Watson doesn't so much as comment on the last time he was in Switzerland (which was for The Final Problem)

Watson dismisses Holmes asking about the missionary's ear as a bad joke (he should know that Holmes asking for weird details is always important!)

Watson has been completely taken in by a Holmes disguise Again, which could just be Watson Being Bad At Recognising His Best Friend In Costumes, but it's also far more common in earlier stories.

[desultory-novice]

"...It's all going to start making sense soon, right...?"