On Not Internalizing Rejection As An Artist

Or, how to stay a little bit cocky

You know what’s wild about being an artist of any kind?

You have to take rejection after rejection, year after year, and ultimately tell yourself, every time: no but I KNOW I’m good, though. It can feel almost villainous and maniacal. Absurd. Self-involved. Honestly, it’s embarrassing to articulate. And yet, I don’t think there’s any other way.

You even have to tell yourself this before you’re “good.” At least I did. I have kept writing, yes because I can’t not write, but more deeply, because I believe in my ability to write. It’s not as grandiose as thinking the world needs my words or something. But I do think there are enough people who would enjoy my words, connect with them, break off a piece to carry. Enough that it’s worth it to keep trying to set my words free from Google Docs and release them to those people.

I’m not saying that one should reject feedback or think themselves perfect. I’m a different, infinitely better writer than I was five years ago, and I hope in five years from now, I’ll look back and say the same thing. What I’m saying is you have to at least believe in you’re onto something.

my favorite mail

One of my goals this year was to apply to at least one writing residency or workshop. Anything that would give me dedicated time and space to write and be around writers. I ended up applying to three. In the last month, I received rejections from two of them. The third one rejected me from the scholarship I’d applied for to help me attend, but I was still a finalist for paid attendance.

Today, I got the acceptance email. I’m so excited! The workshop teachers and speakers are some writing royalty. After the two rejections, I’d accepted the reality of not getting a yes from this one, either—but it sure does feel good to be surprised (even though, in a moment of embarrassing self-deprecation, I may have uttered to my wife, “I didn’t get a scholarship, so it’s not as impressive.” Don’t worry, I’ll bring it up with my therapist.).

It feels good to receive a yes, but I also know that had it been a no, I would have been bummed for the day and then carried on and forgotten about it. I can’t even tell you how many rejections I’ve forgotten about—between residencies, submitting work for publication, applying to be a featured reader back when I was doing more poetry, the list runs on. Have I received more nos or more yeses? Almost certainly more nos. But I don’t remember the nos. I remember the yeses. The sporadic glimmers where it’s not just me, alone in my head, saying to myself, You’ve said something that’s worth other people hearing.

In these moments, I don’t feel villainous or maniacal. Not absurd or self-involved. I feel like thank god I believed I was worthy of applying. Because, breaking news, if you never apply, you’ll never know if someone would have given you a yes. You’ll never have the opportunity to either bask in the glimmer of not being alone in your head or bask in your post-rejection self-belief.

Here’s to trying.

Costco lunch, just before receiving my acceptance email

xxx,

Elle