The gift of rejection

As maybe you've read in my book, when I was eight years old, I wrote a letter to whomever I thought was in charge of the TV show Bonanza suggesting they write in a part for a younger sister, to be played, of course, by me. I offered some possible storylines and assured them that although I had never actually been on a horse, I was certainly willing to learn. In response, I received an 8 x 10 glossy photograph signed by all the Cartwright men, but alas, no offer of an acting contract. My theatrical aspirations ended there.

The following year, I sent Johnny Carson a few of my favorite jokes, fantasizing how the audience would roar when he opened his monologue with my brilliant witticisms. Several weeks later, I received a form letter explaining NBC’s policy to refuse all unsolicited materials and return them unopened. My prepubescent heart was crushed. “I’ll show you,” I vowed. I remembered that letter almost 40 years later as I drove to my first stand-up comedy gig in Las Vegas.

Those first experiences with rejection were precursors of what I would encounter as an adult querying my memoir to agents. Some responses were quite encouraging, praising my writing skills, but lamenting today’s difficult publishing landscape. Most politely declined with a short note. One response, however, downright infuriated me. It was from an acquisitions editor advising me to “drop this project like a bad habit.” Again, I vowed, “I’ll show you.” And I will.

Recently I came across an article I'd cut out from my AARP magazine (yeah, I know) about a year ago. In it, the actor Sidney Poitier talks about his days working as a dishwasher in Harlem. Desiring to make more of his life, he responded to an open casting call at the American Negro Theatre. Poitier recounts that he read so poorly at the audition, the director grabbed him by the seat of his pants and yelled, “Just get out of here and go get yourself a job as a dishwasher or something!” Poitier had not mentioned that washing dishes was the very job from which he sought to escape.

However humiliating, the encounter left Poitier determined to succeed. He worked to improve his reading skills, which were at about a fourth-grade level. To sharpen his speech, he bought a radio and listened carefully to a particular newscaster whose vocal style he tried to emulate.

“I made a promise to myself that I’d become an actor just to show the man at the American Negro Theatre,” he said.

As writers, we have much to learn from Poiter’s experience. We all have a collection of “Thanks, but not for me” rejections, but suppose a query was met with, “You call yourself a writer? Go out and get yourself a job as a dishwasher!” You might be incensed by such a response, but of the two, which would incite you to hone your skills, to develop into the best writer you could possibly be? Which response would impel you to vow, “I’ll show you”?

So go ahead—show them. And when your motivation runs low, think of what the world might have missed out on had that director rejected Sidney Poitier with a simple, “No thanks, not for me.”