I’ve just had a rejection letter from an editor.
My current levels of happiness are such that I have offered him my sincere thanks for his feedback and have already rewritten one of the pieces to send elsewhere later this week.
I am seriously worried about my levels of positivity.
It’s not natural, it’s not me and I know it will all end in tears. I’m wondering if I’m associating with too many Americans. What with Pollyanna and a can-do attitude you lot ought to be quarantined.
I am, of course, a little bit annoyed at the rejection because I’ve clearly sent out sub-standard work and I need to tighten up on it. Fortunately the feedback I was given made the rewrite on one of them quite easy. That will be going to an editor who has never accepted anything from me before. It is very likely to be rejected again, because I don’t think the two of us are on the same wavelength, but you never know…
I’ve actually looked back on one or two posts that mention rejection and seem to have taken it in my stride. However, there was one double rejection that I had, which did stop me in my tracks for a few weeks. I can’t find any mention of it in the blog and may have kept it to myself. That’s how you look successful – talk about the acceptances and gloss over the rejections.
I have had, if I remember rightly, I’ve had nine acceptances and six rejections in the 12 months since I started sending things out. It’s all written down but it’s in another room and I’m lazy. As I started off with three rejections the average isn’t looking too bad.
In some ways, acceptance is worse than rejection. Every time I’m accepted I worry about if I’ll ever manage it again, or if editors will ever realise I actually don’t have a clue about what I’m doing.
The key to a good haibun is, it seems, a good haiku, which should be the first thing you write. Well, that’s what a number of well-respected people have said on more than one occasion. It makes sense. You should not, they add, start writing haibun until you are having haiku accepted regularly by reputable journals.
If I’d known that in the beginning I’d never have written haibun. In truth, I started writing them because my haiku are rubbish and I was hoping to conceal this by hiding them in a chunk of prose.
My writing method is to write the prose and then wait, sometimes for weeks, until a thought for the haibun presents itself. If I make a half-decent attempt the editor often suggests improvements, which I immediately agree to.
It may not be the classic method but it seems to work.
Original methods are fine, I’m sure. Who wants to tread the same old roads?
🙂 Yes, I must adopt a pioneering mindset.
I meant you already have one!
🙂 Thank you.
Nine acceptances in a year is very good! Well done!
I’m setting a target of 18 for next year! Onward and upward…
Goodness, goodness! Different people have different ideas about what’s good. Two people could look at the same poem and have opposite reactions. Rejections are never fun, but you have had enough acceptances to tell you that you are on the right track. So come on, Quercus! Chin up and onward, ho! (Thought I’d give you a little American pep talk.)
Thank you Pollyanna. 🙂
😉
🙂
I’d say your record is pretty good; but don’t think I haven’t spotted that you’ve used your header before
I’m recycling photos. It’s a way of providing pictures without destroying the planet. And without having to move from my chair… 🙂
🙂
🙂
I think Robert Pirsig was rejected 127 times before “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” found a willing publisher. It went on to become a best seller.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_M._Pirsig
I remember it well. I never knew that he was rejected so many times. I didn’t even know it was possible to be rejected that many times! 🙂
9 acceptances in 12 months is stunning. Really. And if haibun are not to be tried until after you are good at haiku, that means haibun are harder. So – you sort of rock.
And you have the secret – it’s the waiting and ruminating after the prose until you get the haibun. I know nothing about poetry, truly, but I know that writing needs the ruminating.
Thank you.
You’re right about the ruminating – my low quality work is often done when I rush it – the ruminating is, as you say, a key part of the process.
If the worst comes to the worst, you will just have to die and see the worth of your work appreciated too late by the ungrateful public.
It’s a slightly more drastic solution than I was considering but it’s a useful fall back position if all else fails.