I recently read an article that led me to make a crazy decision. I want to receive 100 rejections this year.
It shouldn’t be hard. I have four manuscripts out for submission, and I want to start searching in earnest for freelance writing work, so 100 actually sounds a little low for me. But still, 100 is the goal.
It sounds (and feels) a little masochistic to be aiming for 100 rejections. 100 emails that start with “Thank you for sending us your work.” Some then get a little rude. Some are form letters. I had a really great rejection from one agent last week. He was very sweet and actually made me feel a bit better about the never ending stream of no’s.
But having the goal of getting 100 rejections has actually reduced the rejection depression from about twelve minutes to two. I even put a little form on the wall where I can keep a prisoner style hash mark count of my rejections.
My husband even promised to buy me a Happy 100 Rejections present if I managed it. I told him to start saving up, because I’ll hit a hundred before you know it. Now, there is a slightly twisted sense of satisfaction every time I open a rejection. One hash closer to 100. One mark closer to my present. One rejection closer to success.
I hope. I really hope. Cause this 100 rejections game might only be fun once. Then I might have to store candy bars around the house and am only allowed to eat them when I get rejected. After that it’ll move to getting a new cat every time I’m rejected. I’ll have to move to a home in the country to house my cats. Eventually I’ll be too busy cleaning up their cat poo to write at all, and that will be the end of Megan O’Russell’s literary career. Distracted by cat poo.
Anyway. Must go work on submissions now. 100 rejections don’t come without 100 submissions, so I better stick to it.