The other night my daughter and I died repeatedly in a lava lake. We were playing Yoshi’s Woolly World and trying to get a final daisy that would unlock a secret board but the lava was rising and covering the daisy and…well, we died a lot.
After death number twenty-two give or take five, my daughter said, “Mommy, let’s just quit. We’re never going to get it.”
“That’s only true if we quit,” I cried, frantically pounding the A button.
Which is true. In Yoshi’s Wolly World and in life. Someday becomes never only when we quit.
This is not a sentiment I would have slapped on a poster, covered in glitter, and waved over my head until very recently. I was much more a “Why would I waste my limited time and energy on something that’s basically impossible?” or put more honestly “Why would I try so hard to most likely fail?”
Then I started querying agents for a novel, and I learned failing isn’t the end. Failing is a step.
I remember the queasy feeling I had as I hit send on my first query. This was it. After three years of writing, revising and researching the fiction industry, I was as ready as I could be. I was NOT querying a first draft. I had revised and revised again. I researched agents and made a list tailored to the book I wrote. I sent my query to workshops and had ACTUAL literary agents critique it. I was ready, and with my hand shaking, I clicked send. Then I sent nine more.
They all said no. So did the next ten agents. And the ten after that. All form rejections.
Querying literary agents is a pretty good dry run for living with chronic reflux. Once those queries are out, checking your inbox triggers chest pains, difficulty breathing, and nausea. It didn’t matter if the query was sent six hours ago or six months ago. If I had an open query and that little red circle appeared over my inbox icon, my stomach flipped. My expectations rose.
And then I’d read the rejection. It’s amazing that pixels on a screen can stimulate the physical sensation of being punched in the gut.
The first few rejections hurt but weren’t devastating. I didn’t panic. There are varied tastes. Some agents just won’t be into a vigilante anti-hero no matter how well written. Although someone should have recognized my talent by query 20. Or 25. Certainly by 30. But the form rejections kept coming and feeding the self-doubt. Because I wouldn’t have queried a novel I didn’t think was good. So the agent rejections were a reflection not only my book but on my judgement as a writer, right?
Eventually I went in search of data because that’s what people with social science degrees do. I wanted a number, so I googled “What’s the average number of rejections authors get before signing with an agent?” I found enough numbers that I know my total rejections over three projects isn’t even that high.
But back then, I had no idea where my count would end. Would I be the author who got an agent on her 65th query for her sixth manuscript? Imagining the time and energy it would take to write and revise six novels left me breathless. Could my heart take a shot of adrenaline every time I checked my email for a decade? But giving up after one novel wasn’t even trying and I couldn’t quit without really trying.
So I wrote another book. And I queried it. I got more form rejections. They caused heart palpitations and pain. But…and this was a revelation…not as much pain as that first batch.
I realized as I neared that 100 rejections mark, that the more times I read “no”, the faster my heart rate returned to normal. By the time I was into three digit rejection numbers, the emails caused only a flutter of despair. I could tell my husband and family “Nope. Another pass” with merely a shrug. I seemed to have developed a high tolerance for “no”.
Then project number three got me my first full manuscript request and first rejection of the entire manuscript. That one was bad. My query reflux flared up. I cried. But there were more full requests and I started thinking “At this rate, eventually someone will say yes.” I’d heard “no” 130 times, but somewhere along the line my thinking had shifted from “maybe not ever” to “eventually”.
As long as I didn’t quit. I’d gone from form rejections to personalized rejections to a partial request to multiple full requests. If I kept going, one rejection at time, I’d eventually get to a yes and after four years, I did. After 138 rejections.
So here’s what I hope to pass on my daughter.
There will be some doors that never open no matter how hard a person tries. I will never be and could never have been a professional basketball player or super model. I do not have the body for either. Nor do I have the eyesight for fighter jet pilot. Some things are out of our control.
And not everyone has the luxury of failing repeatedly. They don’t have time and energy to spare on ventures that might not bring any financial return. They don’t have family to support them during the trial and errors or bail them out after the crash and burn.
Failing repeatedly is a priviledge. If you’ve got the safety net, take the leap.
Do not let fear of hearing “no” or shame from having to admit rejection in front of family and friends be the only reasons you don’t try. Hearing “no” gets easier. It’ll always sting, but it will stop defining you. Every failed attempt teaches and makes you better. And you will get better.
So tryout for the team. Audition for the roll. Submit the story. Send off the resume. The regret from never trying will be so much worse than the sting of failing. And if there answer is “no”, well, your life will go on exactly as it did before you tried. It won’t be worse and now you have the chance to learn something and try again.
Take the step. Get a “no”. Reassess and try again. And again. Get 138 “no”s. Get 500 “no”s. You’ve only truly failed once you stop trying.
That’s what I yelled while my Yoshi leapt over rising lava. And eventually we got that damn daisy.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you to everyone who came out to the launch of Jaguars and Other Game. We had a wonderful night at Buteco in Grant Park with Brazilian salgados and caipirinhas. We raffled off some Haviannas, Garoto candy and coffee fresh off the plane form Brazil curtesy of my husband. The amazing Kendra, of 
“How long did it take you to get a book deal?” I’m rarely asked that question when I have enough time for a complete answer. Or when people really want an honest answer. Nobody at Thanksgiving wants to hear “Well Aunt Hattie, it took me thirteen years from first book idea to book deal, so if you’re think about a memoir, you probably want to get on that.”
Book 3 is Jaguars and Other Game. It comes out November 22, 2022.
After more than a decade of writing with the intention of building a career, I’m participating in my first author event! Corner Cup on Mainstreet in Tucker, GA from 10am-2pm Sunday, February 27. I’m going to show up in public as a writer. Not just a writer but An Author. With a novel coming out. I really want to be the cool, chill writer, rocking a blazer and sneakers. But I’ll probably be crying through the event. Or talking way too loudly at a million words a minutes. I have trouble using my indoor voice when I’m excited, and I will be very excited this Sunday.
