Thank the folks who’ve rejected you–a radical suggestion for writers this Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is upon us here in the U.S., and this is a wonderful opportunity to reflect upon gratitude, whether you celebrate the holiday or not. I’m a big fan of Rabbi Zelig Pliskin and also of Rabbi Shalom Arush, and I’m going to combine their approaches for this writing exercise appropriate to the Thanksgiving season and year-round. This exercise is useful whether you’re Jewish or not–please don’t get turned off to it just because it was inspired by a couple of rabbis.

mother offering child medicine

Be grateful for the medicine–it’s good for you.

Rejection is just about the hardest thing to cope with when you decide you’re going to become a writer, but it’s something that you need to learn to accept graciously. When that rejection letter first comes, you are often overwhelmed by feelings of resentment, anger, and frustration. You might lash out, calling the editors idiots or saying that the publisher doesn’t know what good writing is. You might despair, consider yourself a failure, or even give up writing.

But here’s the truth–you were meant to be rejected, at least in this specific instance. Continue reading

How to Cope with Rejection When Your Colleagues are Coping with Success

“Expect rejection.”

     That’s what I was told as I entered the field of the professional writer. Sure enough, the vast majority of us do experience it—and in varied and often humiliating forms–and I was not exempt. I no longer sulk for days if I receive a rejection later (although it might cast a fog of discontent over an hour or two). The more mature of us move beyond tolerating rejection and even learn to appreciate it, and maybe someday I’ll reach that stage. Recently, however, I discovered a facet of the rejection experience that has been less commonly addressed, but needs some attention.
    In the space of a few days, two of my colleagues received contracts for their first books. These are two hard-working artists with talent and skill, who worked very hard to reach this point. I’d shared all the ups-and-downs of these particular manuscripts, so each phoned with their good news soon after they received it.
Meanwhile, I’d been tapping away endlessly on my first novel. I had come to a point where I feared it was unpublishable. What made it worse was that I’d been so preoccupied with writing that novel, I’d sent out far fewer pieces of writing than usual. Not one submission had resulted in a sale. I’d been feeling stuck and frustrated that week when my friends phoned with their exciting book deal news.
     In this situation, I had to make a decision.
     I could have hung up the phone and sneered, “But his book isn’t any better than mine!” or “Why is it always someone else?” I could have given the cold shoulder to my recently-successful friends. But the pleasure would be tiny, and it would be brief. Worse, it could cause the loss of a collaborator, colleague, or friend.
     But there was another choice. It’s best described by one (Yiddish) word: farginen.
     To fargin is the opposite of schadenfreude. Whereas the sufferer of schadenfreude delights in the misfortune of others, the person who fargins another delights in their good fortune.
     There is a tendency in artists of all kinds—writers are not exempt—to experience envy, envy in a deeply unattractive shade of green. Somehow, someone else’s success feels like it has prevented your own. Or maybe you believe your work is more deserving than your friend’s.
     You hear about “fair weather friends,” but some people are “foul weather friends.” There are individuals who like having other people around only when they can feel equal or even superior to them. They feel life is a competition, and they always want to be the one on top.  Taking pleasure in someone else’s successes and good fortune, regardless of your own state of being, is just as much of an expression of unconditional love as is sticking it out with a friend in need.
     To be fargin isn’t always a spontaneous emotion. In most people, it requires practice. You remind yourself that your friend’s success doesn’t prevent your own. You cheer for your friend. You spread the word about their new project. You buy the book as a gift for other friends. You let their success remind you that yours is possible at a future date. After all, G-d can hand out as many book deals (or sales or whatever) as there are people, all at the right time. 
     The more you practice this spiritual muscle, the stronger it will become.


(Update: I wrote the original draft of this piece a couple months ago. Don’t worry–I got some writing/coaching gigs after the dry spell.)