Keep tongue firmly in cheek, folks. Reposted from my Tumblr blog.
Are you still squirming before your desk in your underwear, tearing the wing off of that annoying fly, sobbing over the latest arrow to your writer’s heart? Come now, wipe the snot away, put that nineteenth piece of chocolate chip comfort food down, and pay attention. Here’s how to really understand what a rejection is telling you:
The Form Rejection (forma rejectio)
Dear [poor stupid and talentless sap], thank you for sending [OMFG you call this drivel a story?] our way, but I’m afraid it’s not for us [holy shit reading this was like sticking a hot poker into my eye]. Please submit more work in the future [please stop torturing me with your lame ass trunk stories that you workshopped three years ago].
If you get a personal rejection, it could be interpreted like this:
The Personal Rejection (propirus rejectio)
Dear [wanna-be bestseller], thank you for sending [WTF, you call this a title?] our way. While I found the setting descriptions interesting [geez, your worldbuilding is more self-indulgent and derivative than Robert Jordan’s], and the prose is solid [Hemmingway used more adjectives than you], I’m having trouble understanding your main character’s motivation [I couldn’t pronounce your character’s name, so I got bored]. Plus, I fear there was too much telling and not enough showing [Not enough exposition, too much set-dressing; I wanted to experience what your character felt but not REALLY go into detail]. I look forward to your next submission [LMAO because it might be worthy enough for me to wipe my ass on it next time].
Now dim the lights, listen to some gothic metal, wear your least flattering shirt, then guzzle down a few shots of whiskey, until you’re grinning so much it hurts your face. Then reply to that editor. In ALL CAPS, of course.
Repeat as necessary, and I guarantee you will soon be rejection free! Not to mention blacklisted. No one said this was going to be easy…
Are you still squirming before your desk in your underwear, tearing the wing off of that annoying fly, sobbing over the latest arrow to your writer’s heart? Come now, wipe the snot away, put that nineteenth piece of chocolate chip comfort food down, and pay attention. Here’s how to really understand what a rejection is telling you:
The Form Rejection (forma rejectio)
Dear [poor stupid and talentless sap], thank you for sending [OMFG you call this drivel a story?] our way, but I’m afraid it’s not for us [holy shit reading this was like sticking a hot poker into my eye]. Please submit more work in the future [please stop torturing me with your lame ass trunk stories that you workshopped three years ago].
If you get a personal rejection, it could be interpreted like this:
The Personal Rejection (propirus rejectio)
Dear [wanna-be bestseller], thank you for sending [WTF, you call this a title?] our way. While I found the setting descriptions interesting [geez, your worldbuilding is more self-indulgent and derivative than Robert Jordan’s], and the prose is solid [Hemmingway used more adjectives than you], I’m having trouble understanding your main character’s motivation [I couldn’t pronounce your character’s name, so I got bored]. Plus, I fear there was too much telling and not enough showing [Not enough exposition, too much set-dressing; I wanted to experience what your character felt but not REALLY go into detail]. I look forward to your next submission [LMAO because it might be worthy enough for me to wipe my ass on it next time].
Now dim the lights, listen to some gothic metal, wear your least flattering shirt, then guzzle down a few shots of whiskey, until you’re grinning so much it hurts your face. Then reply to that editor. In ALL CAPS, of course.
Repeat as necessary, and I guarantee you will soon be rejection free! Not to mention blacklisted. No one said this was going to be easy…
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