Writers need to have thick skin. We constantly solicit and receive feedback about our work, and if we are lucky, the people who are willing to offer advice, do it with unwavering honesty. I'm one of the lucky ones. When I started grad school in 2005, I met a few of the people I rely on today for feedback and advice in my very first class. There were only six of us, and three of them remain trusted friends and members of what we call "Lakeside Ink." One class later, I met the other two writers that make up our small group, and I am proud that each of us have successfully made it through the program, completed our individual thesis projects, and are Northwestern alumni.
Writers also have to put up with their fair share of rejection. While I've tasted a small amount of success with my writing, I've experienced a wealth of rejection. Rejection comes in many forms. Sometimes in comes in the mail, but more often these days, rejection comes via email. One clear common aspect of rejection is that it often comes in generic "mass mail" format. As an intern for a locally published literary magazine ("Another Chicago Magazine"), I understand this process. Magazines are flooded with submissions every day, and cannot accept everyone. Editors and interns cannot possibly write personal letters to everyone either. There's just not enough time in the day.
I've come to accept rejection with little emotion. Given the state of publishing, it's sad to say that I kind of expect the rejection as soon as I submit something. That's unfortunate, but it might be akin to when I was a social worker in a nursing home and I had to numb myself to the constant dying of patients and residents all around me. Harsh example, but I've become numb to rejection.
I am honest with myself when it comes to my writing. I always have been. I know when something I write still needs work, or I know when something I write stinks. Typically, I will shelve either project (never trash them), and possibly come back to it in the future. Rarely, I will praise myself for something I have written, and even less frequently, will I announce my satisfaction with my work to others. This has only happened a couple of times. Once was a piece I wrote--"Lost Luggage"--that I still hope finds a home. It won a contest several years back which allowed me to read it publicly, but did not offer publication. Another is a screenplay I wrote last year--"Tightrope"--that I have written about previously on this blog.
I've written a couple of screenplays before, one of which is really, really bad. The other may still be a viable/salvageable project, but I'm not ready to come back to it yet. The one that was really bad was called "Truth or Dare." I even went so far as to send it to a former high school acquaintance of mine, Lane Soelberg, who produced a movie in the 90's. Lane lives in California and is good friends with another high school acquaintance, Aaron Downing, who a working post-production supervisor in the movie industry, and the writer/director of the movie that Lane co-produced. When I reached out to Lane, I emailed him out of the blue. We were not very close in high school, but he replied to me almost immediately, and encouraged me to send him my work.
And then I never heard from him again.
I don't blame the guy. If I were him, I would have never contacted me again either. He wants to produce successful projects, not lemons. There are a ton of bad movies made every year. If I were him, I'd only focus on projects that would spawn additional work. The piece I sent him would not have done that. I mean, the screenplay was bad. Really, really bad.
"Tightrope" is not. I write that with all of the humility I can squeeze out of me. Several people have read it, including my friends at Lakeside Ink who really know my work, and who see the good stuff and the bad. Their feedback was positive. Really positive. Did the manuscript need work? Of course it did, and I have taken their suggestions and improved upon the work. Would I pay $9 to see this movie? Yes. I would.
The movie business, and as I have written, publishing in general, is a tough nut to crack. I've sent query letters to agents. Nothing. I entered a fellowship contest: The Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting. It offers a $30,000 prize and probably opens more doors for aspiring screenwriters than printed query letters. I thought I had a pretty good chance with this piece. Until I found out that 6,380 screenplays were submitted and they only pick 321 to make it to the next round. Those are horrible odds. When I sent off my work and got the confirmation email with the above stats, I immediately went to "rejected" in my head. That's what most writers do, I suspect.
When I got my standard mass rejection email today, I was irritated for a minute, but I did not let it bother me, really. I wish this business was easier, and I guess if it was, everybody would be doing it. I'm in sales, so I get rejection from a few angles in my life. You can either let it get you down, or you can try and find another opportunity; another outlet.
I would love to think I can draft another email to Lane Soelberg and see if he's still looking for that next project, but I know that's probably not the right thing to do. He may have given me the one chance he gives the 700 others we graduated with, when I sent him something years ago. This business is sometimes fueled by "who you know." We've been out of high school for 21 years.
I'm not sure if we still know each other...
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