“But that’s your Opinion…”

“I love you,” is my mother’s typical preface to the following statement, “but you have never taken criticism well.”

And she’s my mother; she carried me for seven months (yes, I was very premature), birthed me, kissed my scrapped knees, marched up to school to confront teachers who accused me of lying (I wasn’t), and will always put me straight no matter my age. She knows me and my temperament better than anyone else, so a sweeping statement like that is valid. But every time she’s stated the above—which is just about every time I’ve gone to her for advice in my thirty-three years of existence—I’ve wanted nothing more than to argue her declaration. Because I do take criticism well! In fact, my editor has said that I’m a delight to work with—okay, delight is my own adjective, but you catch my drift.

But arguing with my mother about said personality trait would 100% prove her point.

What can I say, I’m a stubborn German—my grandmother’s term of endearment for my grandfather—and I LOVE being right. Proving someone wrong is my own form of heroin; I crave it, day and night, and it’s a thrill I cannot adequately describe. Whether it was athletically—like my field hockey coach telling me I wasn’t big enough to play center forward, so I scored six goals in one game—academically—like my high school English teacher telling me I couldn’t handle AP English courses, so I enrolled in every English elective that she couldn’t block me from and earned straight A’s—or financially—when I discovered and proved that a fraudulent company, who claimed to administer complete student loan forgiveness, was doing everything but and was scamming people out of money—that need to be heard and validated inches its way into every aspect of my life. All of this boils down to my inability to take no for an answer and loving a challenge. You think a task is too hard for me? Just you wait.

Again, stubborn German, just like my grandfather.

But, I’ve learned that there are certain things you simply must take at face value. You can’t call up a potential employer, who turned you down, and argue your way into a job—although I know someone who confidently marched into a company, resume in hand, and left with a job. They weren’t even hiring. Or talk an ex-boyfriend into taking you back after they’ve dumped you—wish I knew that in my 20’s. No amount of persuasion or logical thinking can sway another’s decision. Even if you know you’re right and the decision maker—aka the soul crusher—is making the biggest mistake of their life, you can’t force someone to see something in you that they don’t.

This is where the nastiest of words—REJECTION—comes in to play. The writers’ worst nightmare, the killer of dreams, the annihilator of confidence. A word I can’t handle. In any form. And lately, I’ve been seeing that word A LOT. Specifically, when it comes to query letters

I spent much of my summer writing my query letter—a one-page manuscript proposal, that briefly outlines the premise of your book and lists your accomplishments in the writing field, all in the attempt of hooking a potential agent or publisher. It sounds easy, right? It’s not. Try summarizing a 129,000-word book in two paragraphs, hitting on important themes and hinting at conflict, all the while making sure grammar and word usage is perfect. THEN, each letter needs to be tailored to the individual you are querying—you must know what the agent recently sold and have a basic knowledge of what is currently selling in the marketplace. With the help of my editor, I finished my letter and made a list of twenty-five agents that I wished to reach out to. And the first week of September, I sent out thirteen personalized e-mails to my first-round picks of agents, in the hopes of sparking interest of two or three. Most had a response turnaround of about four weeks—if not more, or at all. Patience is obviously not one of my strong suits, so waiting for almost four weeks has been its own form of torture. But, the silver-lining, in my eyes, was that I was going to have an agent at the end of this.

Well, it’s been over four weeks and I’ve heard back from seven of the thirteen.

With rejection.

Most were generic; “Thank you for reaching out, and although your manuscript sounds interesting, it’s just not what we are looking for at this time,” with a “Good luck,” closing to end it. These letters seemed to be in a template format, that assistants probably send out to the masses. No thought or personalization—outside of the recipient’s name—behind the rejection, just a push of the button and out it goes. And I get it; why waste time or energy in a letter when you want nothing to do with that person—kind of like a “It’s not you, it’s me” break-up text. 

One such e-mail I received was the gold-standard of rejections, but in a good way. It wasn’t generic, it was extremely personalized and more than three sentences. It also gave solid advice and even stated that she’d be happy to work with me in the future. Which is HUGE. I didn’t feel as crestfallen after reading that letter and was pretty encouraged. 

Regardless, rejection and criticism are hard things to swallow when you believe in your project so deeply. It’s easy for me to say that my book is good; it’s mine. It’s been my purpose for the last five years; my driving force to succeed and my only form of professional sanity. The checks I write every month for student loans is for this. This book is the basis of my future. 

So, rejection sucks. But using rejection to catapult you to the next success is good. Which is how I truly use criticism. Instead of wallowing in self-doubt, I’m pushing forward and revisiting my query letter. I already have a list of the next set of agents I will reach out to and a clearer direction on the type of agencies I want to go after. My book is publishable and contains a story that needs to be read by the masses. Finding the right person who believes in it as much as I do is the key—and making those who turned it down eat tar would be an added bonus. 

And now, as I finish this blog, I realize I have written my argument with my mother. See Mom, I can take criticism!