Celebrate rejection, celebrate acceptance, and be careful what you ask for

Back in February, after sending a query to a literary agent, I wrote about celebrating rejection.  The agency website says, “If you don’t hear from us in six weeks, assume we’re not interested.” I didn’t hear after six weeks, so I assumed that I had been rejected. After the sixth week passed, I tried to celebrate my rejection. 

And then I began working on a query letter for a publisher (my book is the kind of thing that is at the edge of being mass-market enough for one of the commercial publishing houses—there are several different commercial houses that have related books, and the commercial publishers don’t accept unsolicited queries—if I want to publish at a commercial publisher, I need an agent—but it’s also suitable for academic publisher, who do accept queries from authors). I decided to try a query letter (“would you like to see a proposal for a book” rather than “would you like to see a manuscript of a book”), thinking that a shorter, simpler query might get a quicker response.  I sent my first (and only) query letter to a publisher on the seventh week after sending my previous proposal, preparing to (try to) celebrate rejection yet again.

Celebrating rejection is not the easiest thing. It’s silly to argue that rejection is all good—the central part of rejection is that someone rejected your request, and presumably you didn’t make a request for something you didn’t either want or need (or both).  The possibility of celebrating rejection comes from the complexity of rejection: rejection does force one to consider new opportunities or new avenues of exploration, and those opportunities can be celebrated. It takes effort and focus, but as the saying goes, “if you get lemons, make lemonade.”

This past Monday (eight weeks after sending the proposal), I did, in fact, receive a formal rejection from the agent, which gave me a second opportunity to “celebrate” my rejection. A double helping of rejection to celebrate!

Of course, as I had already sent off a new query letter, my attention and interest were elsewhere, despite the renewed sting of rejection. As it happens, my query letter to the publisher had received a positive response—the acquisitions editor had expressed interest in seeing a proposal and in setting a time to talk with me.

Naturally, I was thrilled that my query had received a positive response. In many ways, celebrating acceptance is much easier than celebrating rejection.

But one does need to be careful what one asks for, because sometimes the request is accepted! Because of the acceptance of the query letter, I spent the last week writing and rewriting a proposal for the publisher. There are elements of book proposals that can be re-used, but different publishers have different interests and different book lists, and that leads to a need for some differences. And once the process of rewriting has started, it can take on its own life, as previous choices come under examination.

Last week, I wrote about compromise and how even when things are going well, you can expect someone to ask you to compromise. And I guess this is in that same vein: things could be going well (by being accepted, for example), and still there is more work to do, there are compromises to make.  I’m pretty darn happy that my query letter received a positive response, but life doesn’t end there. Resting on laurels is rarely possible. I have a next step (a proposal), which could lead to rejection, and then, possibly, a next step (manuscript submission), which could lead to rejection. And if that is accepted, then there are the steps of revising, editing, possibly indexing, promoting, etc.

Since this post is about celebrating things, I’ll wrap by noting that we have some choice over where we direct our attention. And especially, that there are always concerns for looking forward to the future: regardless of whether you were accepted or rejected, you can choose where to direct your attention, and looking at the road ahead, seeing difficulties, one can still choose to focus attention on the positive goals, too. It would be nice to have some laurels to rest upon, even if that rest might be uneasy.

Celebrate rejection

My biggest difficulty as a writer is not producing material, but in giving material to other people. Right now I have a book draft and a book proposal, and the next step is to send it to someone. I can do that now—sending it to publishers or agents—or I can put that off and self-publish. But even self-publishing involves trying to get someone to read your work, and risks rejection. (Update: the proposal was sent before posting.)

I don’t relish rejection, and I assume that you don’t either. But sometimes it’s necessary to take a chance, and if you are uncomfortable with rejection, as I am, it can be useful to look at what there is to celebrate about rejection.

As a writer, rejection presupposes an accomplishment: I can’t have a work rejected without finishing that work--without making a commitment to giving a draft to someone else (and thus a commitment to stop working on the darn thing). I absolutely should celebrate finishing both the draft and the proposal. Writing an entire book draft is a real accomplishment for me—something I’ve managed to do only twice before on my own (counting my dissertation in addition my book on dissertation writing)—and so, finishing a draft of a new book is something to celebrate, and finishing a book proposal even more so, because I find the book proposal much harder to write than the book. The proposal is all about acceptance/rejection. When I’m working on the book, it’s about helping people, which feels good. When I’m working on the proposal, it’s about getting my book accepted which doesn't feel nearly as good. Anyway, the proposal is finished (and now sent). I’m not going to rework it any more. It’s going to fly or crash on the merit of what is there now.

The well-known principle “you can’t win if you don’t play,” is important here. But the principle presupposes that you can play: in the metaphorical poker game of manuscript submission, I have something to ante into the pot.  I certainly ought to celebrate that good fortune (not really good fortune, but the product of a lot of consistent effort over several years). I already believe in the value of working hard, so I don’t begrudge that past effort, but rather view the effort with some pride, even if no one ever reads my book.

I don’t entirely look forward to reworking my proposal for a new agent or publisher, so that aspect of possible rejection is not awesome. But the book process would hardly be over, even if I had a great response on my proposal. Getting accepted would almost certainly carry with it some specific requests for revision and for other information. The publication process would eventually require proofreading, too. So rejection doesn’t radically change the necessary effort. And, realistically, I like writing as work: it’s often frustrating, but I feel that the more I work at it, the greater are the rewards in proportion to the effort.

Submitting a proposal—whether accepted or rejected—is not the end of the process, but it is a real landmark. If bringing a book to publication is a road race, this is a significant milepost—it’s the halfway point, at least. And just as I would celebrate the halfway point in a road race, I can celebrate hitting this mark.

If you worry about how your work will be accepted, I understand. I worry about how my work is accepted, too. It’s natural. But rejection is only part of a larger picture, and in that larger picture—the picture of a person working on a piece of writing—the rejection is a real sign of accomplishment. That’s what I told myself as I geared up to hit “send” on my proposal. 

Now that I have sent the e-mail, a difficult period of waiting for a response begins. To help support my mood through that wait, I’m going to celebrate my accomplishments so far.

Sorting out complexity

A few days ago, I received a query from someone who asked “Now that I finished my dissertation, what do I do? I don’t want to pursue the career that got me into the doctoral program.”  And today a friend asked me to help with processing an annual job review. In both of those cases, I started to do what I normally do with feedback on written work (whether mine or other people’s): sort through the different concerns to try to focus on each one independently.

In both of these cases there’s good mixed with bad in emotionally loaded situations. The dissertation writer obviously should celebrate the big accomplishment (good! exciting!). And at the same time, the new doctor has to make big decisions about the course of his career, and no longer has the security of a concrete plan for the immediate future (scary!).  The job review recipient can celebrate the many areas of commendation (good!), but also has to deal with the areas of difficulty (scary!).

Finding good responses to big issues like these is easier if you can sort through the tangles of emotion to find a little bit of calm.  Sorting through the different issues can separate them out them out into distinct threads of consideration, and separate threads of emotion can be more easily processed. If you leave the good tangled with the bad, it’s hard to feel good about the good stuff. And if you only feel bad abut the bad stuff, then you’re not supported by positive emotions, which makes it much harder to make a good plan.

To take the case of the job review, it would be valuable to be able to think about the successes without thinking about the difficulties—the successes are real and should not be discounted or ignored because there are also difficulties that need to be resolved. And, of course, the difficulties are real, too, and also need to be taken into consideration. Responses to the review need to be balanced between the good and bad.

To take the case of the completed dissertation, it would be valuable to celebrate the success of completing a dissertation and to recognize the way that a doctoral degree can benefit a career. And at the same time, it is valuable to recognize the real difficulties: making new plans is difficult.  There is emotional security in a defined role. If you can say “I’m getting a doctorate,” you have a good, comforting answer to the question of what you’re doing with your life. If you say “I don’t know what I’m doing now, and I don’t have a plan,” that’s pretty scary.

The scary and difficult stuff in life—making plans to deal with the unknown, making plans to fix difficulties—is really scary and difficult (for a lot of people, anyway). It’s worse—more scary, more difficult—if you focus only on shortcomings and not on strengths. To respond to a situation, it’s great if you can do so with your best reasoning, and not just respond from a place of anxiety and fear.

So what is the situation, in full? For the recent doctor, there is, on the plus side, a doctoral degree and the potential job opportunities that it opens. On the minus side, there is uncertainty about the future, and a sense that previous plans are no longer appealing. The negatives are real, but a strength does not necessarily become useless if the original purpose is no longer a guide.

Yes, the recent doctor, has to pay bills. There may be student debt. There may be a present need to find a job. There may be the unfortunate fact that the planned training isn’t going to be used for the intended purpose. All that sucks. At the same time, the recent doctor has a doctorate degree. Even if the career that was planned does not present an opportunity, there are other opportunities that a doctorate can enhance.  Many jobs will appreciate an advanced degree. Yes, there may be some opportunities that are closed by choice, but that will only feel like a trap if you don’t spend time trying to figure out what opportunities are now open that were not open before.

And for the job review, there are the realities of all the commendations and all the successes.  These are real, and could be the foundation for a job application with a new position. The strengths allow the reviewee to say, “I have options other than this job.” And that sense of choice, allows the reviewee to approach the complaints saying “maybe I want to try to fix these things, if the critiques are sound; or I could just blow these silly people off, and go find a new job.” 

To focus on the choices that are available and that you can make provides a sense of opportunity and strength that is important in difficult moments. If you are faced with difficult and complex situations—a mixed job review, an unplanned future (with a fresh Ph.D. diploma)—it helps to separate out the different threads.

What are the good things? Focus on these, because these are the source of real strength and real confidence.  And don’t ignore, but separate out, the bad things: yes, problems need to be dealt with, and yes, they can be difficult, But they are not the whole situation, and it’s hard to make a good plan if you focus only on the negatives.

Sort out the different threads of emotion in complex situations. Focus on the good points if you’re feeling distressed. Make plans to deal with the concerns when you’re feeling confident.

What I really care about (confessional 2)

What do I really care about? There's a lengthy answer to that question. And I'm not clear on the details. That's why I decided to start another blog.

This blog is about writing and about academic work. And these are things that I really do care about, especially the parts that are about learning to interact in new ways with your writing, because I have struggled with writer's block myself. This blog has been an integral part of my working on my relationship with writing. Especially important has been learning to be willing to release a piece of work that is imperfect. In the context of blogging, I have allowed myself a great deal of lenience in presenting to the public work that has basically not been edited in any way, and has been often left incomplete.

The result has happily been that I feel much more comfortable writing. For all the mastery I had before, the constant, regular practice has only served to give me greater ease. I'm having so much fun, in fact, that I have been feeling like writing more.

The focus on writing in this blog doesn't address larger issues that I see in the world around me. Its focus guides me away from philosophical speculation and the development of random ideas; it discourages flights of fancy; it discourages questions of morals, and values; it has no place for questions of most everything in the world around. I believe in focus. I believe it's important to keep focus, so this blog is going to stay focused, but there are a lot of things other than writing that I care about.

I invite you to take a look.

Wouldn't it be great if...?

I was looking at the book Peak Performance: Mental Training of the World's Greatest Athletes by Charles Garfield. Garfield quotes an athlete he worked with as saying, "Excellence is never limited to the playing field. Of necessity, it becomes a way of life." With the behavior of many of the successful professional athletes in this country making constant headlines, I'm not sure that I believe the generality of this statement. But I like the attitude. Or even better, I like the idea that if one makes a way of life of excellence, it will translate into success in any arena.

As I write this, I realize that I'm heading for a potential trap. What is excellence? And, importantly, how does the search for excellence relate to perfectionism--which, as we all know, can cause problems in finishing work? And I don't want to go down this path of reasoning now, however. For the moment I would like to leave the dangers of pursuing excellence aside, while giving a nod to their deserving attention at some point.

I was talking with a writer who was having trouble getting started on his project, and I was talking with him about just looking at the possibilities. Wouldn't it be great if...? Wouldn't it be great if he got his thesis done? Wouldn't it be great if felt good about the project? Wouldn't it be great if...?

It seems to me that a living a life of excellence depends heavily on having a strong sense of "wouldn't it be great if...?". If you have a vision of what it would be great to accomplish--to win recognition, fortune, fame--that is the first step toward achieving results that might be considered excellence. If you're in the habit of having such a vision in your life, it will pervade all aspects of your life, and thus you will manifest the same quality of excellence in all dimensions of your life.

The ability to imagine what you would like--the ability to day dream, basically--is of fundamental value. Charles Garfield talks about an experience in his own life of using visualization exercises to assist him to perform beyond his athletic expectations--there may have been more structure to Garfield's visualization exercises than in loose day-dreaming, but the basic process is the same.

We want to be able to go beyond "wouldn't it be great if...?" to ask what we can do to bring it about, but still, everything depends on the vision--the sense that something is what we want. But bringing the vision into reality is another thing altogether.

There is yet another benefit of the "wouldn't it be great if...?" exercise: it focuses attention on the positive possible outcomes. I talk to lots of writers who are stuck because they are thinking about the negative reaction that they might receive. The fear of rejection is great in most of us (I'd say all of us, but every now and then one meets a person who appears utterly without such fear). When we start worrying about the negative feedback, it makes it harder to do more work--it drains our energy to battle the negative visions and to move in despite of them. It may be difficult focus on the positive outcomes (for example, getting our writing accepted), but when we are focused on them, it is much easier to maintain energy and motivation.

"Sri Vision"

This is going to be quick.

Today my yoga teacher was talking about "sri vision"--which, I suspect, but do not know, may be her own use of the idea of "sri".
In any event she was speaking of it as a way of looking at things that notices their beauty and their goodness--an all-encompassing vision that looks at the whole, rather than analyzing and breaking the vision down into little parts.

It is very easy, she was saying, to focus in on details, on pieces, and to lose sight of the larger picture, and thus to lose sight of the beauty in that larger picture.

While the notion of "sri vision" is relevant in a number of different ways in the context of academic writing, I was thinking of it particularly in terms of the loss of enthusiasm and the loss of the sense of significance that can occur, especially if your ideas--or your presentation or ideas--is treated harshly and subjected to destructive criticism.

Which reminds me that my yoga teacher specifically mentioned constructive vs. destructive criticism--something that had slipped my mind until I wrote the phrase "destructive criticism"--the difference between the two, she suggested, was the presence of "sri vision"--a sense or and appreciation of the whole, and the beauty that is inherent in the work.

I don't know if one has a choice, but it seems to me that it would be better to use sri vision, and remain passionate about a project than it would be to become jaded and cynical. Wherever we look, we can see problems if we look closely enough. Can we see the beauty in things as well?

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

For the writer, I think the expectation of a bad outcome is something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. It is, at least, if we allow the expectation of a bad outcome to keep us from working and from circulating our work.

Writing is meant to be shared. If we are unwilling to share our written work (or if we produce no written work), then we fail as writers more surely than we could possibly fail by handing in a poor draft. At least when the deadline comes, if you have turned in nothing, you have no chance of your work being accepted; if you have something written, you have a chance--however slim you may believe that chance to be.

If you believe the outcome will be bad, you almost guarantee the bad outcome. This is often true in interpersonal dynamics--whether interviewing, presenting work, or even dating--if you show a lack of confidence, the audience will expect problems; if you show confidence, you're often well received.

It is true to some extent in presenting written work: often people present the work along with a long list of the problems they still see, with no comment on the good things they have accomplished--they're so sure the reader will see the problems that they want the reader to know that they've seen the problem, too. But this can backfire, especially if you see problems that your reader wouldn't have.

The old adage "you can't win if you don't play", is kind of true and kind of annoyingly simplistic. But the outcome of not playing is often exactly like the outcome of losing, except perhaps in the expenditure of energy. But that's not really a loss, is it? What good is it to be well rested, but still have the dissertation waiting to be written?

I suppose there is the fear that if one does try, one might be ridiculed for one's efforts, whereas the person who shows nothing, is not ridiculed. Of course, if you fear ridicule, you might also fear the ridicule of never finishing. Is it really worse to be known as the person who went for it and failed than it is to be known as the person who never went for it?

Chance always plays a role; it's always possible that one will find a winning lottery ticket on the street. But barring random chance, I feel like pessimism is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Getting things to work out right may be more difficult, but I believe that the optimistic mind also creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. Confidence helps one perform better. Optimism and confidence also make the moment more enjoyable. If you can maintain optimism during a project, even if it doesn't work out, the act of working on the project may not seem so onerous, because it is an act filled with hope.

For my part, I have to work to keep an optimistic mindset, and it often slips away. Nonetheless, I believe that work in trying to be optimistic and in practicing believing in myself, is worth the effort.