My Story Was Rejected Twice, and That’s Not Very Nice. Except Maybe it Is?
I’ve never been tossed in the garbage, but I imagine rejection is a close approximation. I’ve also never been stuffed into one of those thin dollar store bags and left on the side of the road, but an automated email doing the deed after a six month wait feels like a more accurate description. They could have at least used one of those those fancy scented bags.
Last November, I finished a short story that I’d been working on for two months before sending it out to three publications. It was the first time I ever tried to sell a piece of fiction, though I’d pitched articles, reviews, and interviews for a decade. So I wasn’t wet behind the ears, maybe a little damp. I should be bone dry back there, but life has a funny way of pushing you around.
I studied writing (Humanities, technically) in college, and got a “Professional Writing Certificate” on top of that. How bougie. Yet my career took me to the glorious world of writing listicles for random websites, ad copy, and ghostwriting, before later moving to YouTube and, ugh, retail. Despite wanting to be an author and screenwriter, I never even tried to pursue those opportunities. I stopped writing fiction only a few years out of college, so focused on keeping my head above water.
As I approach 34 years on this spinning ball of misery, reckoning with a dead end grocery store job and a string of failed careers, I feel a greater sense of urgency than ever. What better time to try and follow those dreams than now? Well, thirteen years ago, fresh out of college and before genAI ruined the creative arts, but let’s not focus on the negative.
Last year I jumped head-first into writing fiction again. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I looked back and saw seven short stories in my wake—a burning trail of shoddy prose, shaky plots, bland characters, and unnecessary em dashes. Most of these weren’t worth taking any further. Some were okay. Some were pretty good. I picked the one I liked the most, polished it until it gleamed even in the dark, and sent it out to multiple literary magazines. While I waited for a response, I started another short story which turned into a novella. Then I wrote some flash fiction. Then I went back to working on my novel. All the while I was waiting, breath stuck on a hook and cast into the murky waters of uncertainty.
The first thing I learned about in this business is that literary magazines are slow to respond. I submitted my story to three magazines in early November 2025. I didn’t get my first reply until late February 2026. The second came in April. I still haven’t heard from the third. For a freelance article pitch, I'd hear back from a website within two weeks, and even that would be longer than usual.
There’s nothing special about these emails, no notes or explanations as to why they rejected me. These publications get a lot of submissions, a handful of editors going through them (how many people can fit in a handful?), and they only publish so many issues per year. They don’t have time to write personalized emails, and they don’t have the capacity to publish much. Technically, my story getting rejected doesn’t necessarily mean they think it’s bad. It could be their sixth favorite story, but they’re only publishing five.
I knew all of that going in, but still, a rejection is a rejection. Without an explanation, even one as simple as “it sucks bro,” I’m left wondering why. Does it need minor tweaks? Is it completely busted and not salvageable? Would humanity be better off if I deleted it and blasted my hard drive into the sun to be certain it can’t ever come back? I knew where I stood when writing for websites, it was familiar territory. Here, I feel like I went out on a limb, and the limb broke. Over a river. And I can’t swim. And I've been stabbed by some idiot's fish hook that smells like bad breathe.
A new story takes shape as I read the email, about a team of experienced and wizened editors sitting at one of their computers. They take turns reading my story out loud because they keep breaking down in hysterical fits of laughter. The rest of the staff comes over to see what the fuss is about. As they finish, wiping the tears from their eyes, they ask themselves how this yokel with no experience and a thirteen year old diploma from a technical school could possibly think his story was worth a damn.
I sigh as I look out my window. A new story forms. This time there’s an angry editor standing over her boss’s desk. She’s pounding on the thing like she’s tenderizing a steak, demanding they publish this incredible new writer’s visionary work. Boss man refuses, saying it’s too radical. The editor calls her boss a “little emasculated mass of inanity,” which pisses him off so much he demands she turn in her badge and typewriter. The editor pulls them out of her pocket and says she’s not getting fired, she quit. Two years later, she’s standing on the roof of a building. It's pitch black, the only illumination being the spark of a lighter as she warms up her death stick. Looking down at the streets, she sees people peddling underground books and magazines. A woman interrupts her, saying she’s got this incredible story, but the publishers won’t touch it. The editor looks at her, blowing out a cloud of smoke, and says she left the life of proofreading and reformatting years ago. The writer looks at her, droplets falling from her eyes. Tears? Rain? Who can say? She says “okay” and walks off, as Godzilla appears in a ball of lightning and attacks the city. The editor turns into an ape and starts swinging on the tower of Unseen University. I love a good twist ending like that.
You hear all the time about not letting rejection get you sour. It’s one thing knowing rejection is possible, another to actually experience it. You tell yourself the sky isn’t falling, but remember that if the last two years has taught us anything it’s that we really should start wearing helmets. I’m not upset about the rejection of this specific story, the fear comes from the rejection itself. Your mind wants to think this is a rejection of not only you but of your future work as well. I have to remember that this is the first story I’ve ever tried to sell, and I haven’t written fiction in ten years before this. Focus on improving, keep writing, and don’t give up. Keep cliches like that coming and you won’t ever sell a story, but it’s a process.
Here’s the new plan. Huddle around as I unfold a crusty ass piece of paper with scribbles and mysterious stains. Of all the shorts I’ve written since getting back into writing fiction, and the two I wrote since finishing that novella, it’s the best of the lot. I’m going to give this story (which I’m intentionally not saying anything about here, yet) another editing pass. Looking back on it, there are some things that could use improvement. Maybe some ugly CG aliens. The villain should shoot first so the protagonist looks more heroic. You know, stuff like that.
I’m also looking for more suitable magazines to pitch to. Back in November, I used the advanced technique of searching StartPage for every variation of “magazine that accepts short stories” I could think of. I have since found a website called The Submission Grinder, which is not a dating app for gay writers, unfortunately. Gayters, if you will. Instead, it’s a resource for writers that collects every magazine and website that accepts story submissions, details their acceptance rate, when they’re accepting, what their theme is (if they have one), and their pay rate. This helped me find a bunch of places I could submit stories to.
I am seeing a potential problem emerging. Between editing and rewriting this story and the second round of submissions, I’m looking at a minimum of five months for an answer. What if I’m rejected again? What if I write another story and that gets rejected? I’m worried I’m going to finish a first or even second draft of my novel without having sold any short stories. It’s going to be hard to sell a novel to a publisher or agent without a single credit to my name. Especially if I tell them I have tried to sell short stories and wasn't able to.
Perhaps there’s a better strategy here. What if I email those two magazines that rejected me and beg them, maybe make a video where I’m on my knees and crying, asking them to reconsider. I could stand outside one of their offices all day, so they would know I’m serious. What do you mean that’s a terrible idea? Stalking? Harassment? Okay, fine, if you’re so sure, geez.
New plan. The creative part of me hates this because it wants to frolic in fields and do whatever, but the business side of me says I should check out The Submission Grinder first. It wants to see what publications are accepting stories and when, what themes they’re after and what word counts they want. I can then write a story that fits as many publication’s criteria as possible. From my limited research so far, not many places have a rigid theme, so I should be okay there. I’d like to write a science fiction story next, and I’ve already found a few places that might fit my vibe. I won’t try to write something with “mass appeal” (I gagged typing that). But I wrote this first short story with no themes or markets in mind. Maybe if I scout some publications first, I can write to their tastes. Or maybe that’s a terrible idea.
It could be that the solution is staring me in the face. A few paragraphs ago, I said the best story I wrote is the one I submitted, without qualifying that statement. That’s an odd thing to throw out there and not further acknowledge. Can a twice (thrice?) rejected story be the best thing I wrote? That needs some serious examination, because if the answer is “yes,” then what does that say about my writing? If the answer is “no,” then why would I feel that way?
I didn’t quit writing fiction ten years ago because I didn’t have time. That’s always been the convenient excuse. Rejection terrified me. Writing fiction leaves you vulnerable in a way non-fiction writing doesn’t. You're writing about an objective truth, something that's happened in the real world. With fiction, there is no real world, there's no truth to hide behind but your own. Besides, most times when you pitch an article you’re pitching an idea, and then write it after it’s been accepted. You don’t submit it cold turkey like you do a short story. That’s the part I was totally unprepared for.
Rejection isn’t a bad thing. It’s a way of letting you know there’s something wrong. That’s a kindness. Much better than continuing on thinking that this busted ass story you wrote is a great piece of literature. Looking at my story with a fresh pair of eyes, I’m happy to say that I still think it’s good. I’m equally happy to say there are some things that could use some work. If I re-read the story and thought it was terrible or still thought it was good and didn’t need fixing, then I’d have something to be sorry about. There’s a clear path forward though, I just need to follow it.
Thing of the Whenever
After years of languishing on my TBR list, I’ve finally picked up a copy of Anthony C. Yu’s translation of Journey to the West. It’s Volume 1 of 4, and even this one outing is a chonky boy.
Storygraph Link to Journey to the West
It’s a tough read, though. Yu’s is considered the definitive English translation. But Yu was a scholar and academic first and a writer second. I’m halfway through, and I can’t shake the feeling that, while this is an intensely accurate translation, it’s missing some of the flair that made the story so popular for so long. It’s a clinical read, you can feel a cool breeze while holding it.
I’m reminded of the decades-old controversy surrounding Jeremy Blaustein’s translation of Metal Gear Solid. He changed much of the literal dialog, but kept it in the spirit of the original Japanese. Hideo Kojima hated it and put Blaustein in Konami’s doghouse, which caused him to quit a few years later. Subsequent games featured a more literal translation and have suffered infamously stilted dialog.
I believe Blaustein’s approach is the right one. Here’s an example: in Metal Gear Solid, Blaustein translated a line into “I’m just a man who’s good at what he does. Killing.” In the remake Metal Gear Solid: The Twin Snakes, the translation became “I’m just a guy who can only find meaning on the battlefield.” More accurate, but much worse!
I’m still enjoying it, though. The story and characters are excellent. I love how the first seven chapters are a set up for one of the main characters, and the next seven are a set up to a set up of another main. That extra breathing room not establishes both the Monkey King and Tripitaka, but also the whole cast of characters. Everyone, however minor, is distinct and well-drawn. I can’t help but wonder if I’d enjoy a different translation more, though. I might give Julia Lovell’s 2025 abridged translation a go before picking up Yu’s Volume 2.
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