My First Rejection Letter: How Writers Can Use Feedback to Grow
I got my first rejection letter!
That might sound like an odd thing to celebrate, but to me, it feels like a milestone. It means I took a piece from my work-in-progress, polished it up, and sent it into the world with enough courage to say, “Here, read this.”
As far as rejection letters go, mine was actually quite kind—praising my writing skills and offering thoughtful suggestions. And so, instead of tucking it away in defeat, I’m reading it with both a fine-tooth comb and a sense of humour.
Some of the feedback made perfect sense, and I’ll be using it to guide some revisions. Other parts don’t feel in alignment with how I want this piece to live in the world—and that’s okay too. It might simply mean this particular journal wasn’t the right fit. Because this essay is also part of a larger work-in-progress, I’ll need to decide whether to shape it differently as a stand-alone piece, one that might not even appear in the book at all.
And just for fun, I also turned my rejection letter into a kind of erasure essay. I highlighted all the positive comments and blacked out the rest. It doesn’t mean I’m not open to criticism or feedback—but sometimes, we need to give ourselves a boost and focus on the encouragement hidden inside the “no.”
Every writer I admire has a history of “no thank yous.” Rejection letters line the paths of their careers like breadcrumbs. They remind us that rejection doesn’t mean stop writing; it means keep going.
“By the time I was fourteen the nail in my wall would no longer support the weight of the rejection slips impaled upon it. I replaced the nail with a spike and went on writing.”
“Whenever I got those rejection letters, then, I would permit my ego to say aloud to whoever had signed it: “You think you can scare me off? I’ve got another eighty years to wear you down! There are people who haven’t even been born yet who are gonna reject me someday—that’s how long I plan to stick around.”
“Starting when I was fifteen I began to send short stories to magazines like Esquire, and they, very promptly, sent them back two days before they got them! I have several walls in several rooms of my house covered with the snowstorm of rejections, but they didn’t realize what a strong person I was; I persevered and wrote a thousand more dreadful short stories, which were rejected in turn.”
So here’s how I’m reframing rejection:
It’s a sign of courage. To be rejected, you have to first put yourself out there.
It’s a chance to grow. Feedback, even when it stings, is a map showing where you might go next.
It’s fuel. Every “no” brings me closer to the right “yes.”
I know I’ll receive more rejections in my writing life. Probably many, many more. And that’s okay. Each one is proof that I’m in motion, that I believe enough in my words to give them a chance beyond the safety of my notebook.
Rejection, after all, is not the opposite of success. It’s the companion to it.
So here’s to sending our words into the world—again and again, bravely, imperfectly, wholeheartedly. Because every “no” we collect is also a step toward the “yes” that matters.
Erica
Hi, I’m Erica.
I’m an author, public speaker, and writing mentor. I LOVE to talk about about writing, creativity, and the messiness of life that can make these things feel as unobtainable as they are critical to healing.
Reach out to find out how to bring me to your group as a keynote speaker or workshop facilitator.
