The chair where J.K. Rowling sat as she penned her famous Harry Potter series recently sold at auction for $394,000–so it might seem hard to believe that she was rejected by between nine and twelve publishers, and took roughly five years to find someone willing to publish her books, which have all found acclaim, and been made into major motion pictures.
William Golding‘s Lord of the Flies, now a staple in classrooms across the country, was rejected twenty or twenty-one (depending on the source) times before its eventual publication.
In 1856, one critic wrote of Walt Whitman‘s Leaves of Grass: “Mr. Whitman thinks, however, he would like to turn and live awhile with the animals. Well, one’s associates should certainly be determined according to one’s tastes.” This comment’s status as something of an ad hominem makes it no less scathing. In no uncertain terms, a review in The Saturday Review also disparages Whitman’s work: “If the Leaves of Grass should come into anybody’s possession, our advice is to throw them instantly behind the fire.”
But can you imagine if these writers had simply given up? Had said to themselves, “Well, I guess everyone’s right. I’m a failure. Might as well throw in the towel. I can’t take one more rejection letter or nasty review”? What literary genius the world would have been deprived of! How many people would perhaps never have discovered their latent love for reading without Rowling’s Harry Potter series? What would the canon of American literature be without Walt Whitman?
Truly, writers must be some of the most persistent and resilient personalities in the wide universe. What other hobby or profession asks of one to pour her heart out, only to face rejection after rejection in pursuit of the dream, in which she must maintain an everlasting confidence?
And you must, dear writer, maintain that everlasting confidence, that inextinguishable faith, as the writers before you have done.
In his poem “A Psalm of Life,” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow writes:
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing may take heart again.
When we think of our most beloved and admired authors, we often think only of what we can see: their beautiful book covers, the critical acclaim, their books made into blockbuster movies, the TV and radio interviews. In short, we are aware of their success and their fame. Rarely do we think about what it took for them to get there.
When you feel discouraged, disparaged, or disappointed because you have once again failed to finish draft two, because someone has told you your story isn’t good enough, or because you have once again gotten a thanks-but-no-thanks from an agent or publisher, think about the writers who never gave up–but could have. Longfellow describes the footprints they have left for you to follow. So “take heart again,” pick up your pen, and keep writing. Your readers are waiting.
Sources:
[Unknown]. “Leaves of Grass.” 15 March 1856. The Walt Whitman Archive. Gen. ed. Ed Folsom and Kenneth M. Price. Accessed 31 March 2016. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org>.
[Unknown]. “[Review of Leaves of Grass (1855)].” 18 February 1856. The Walt Whitman Archive. Gen. ed. Ed Folsom and Kenneth M. Price. Accessed 30 March 2016. <http://www.whitmanarchive.org>.