Back in February, I submitted a short play to a publisher who is developing a children’s play anthology. This play is called “Lost Wings,” and it’s about a fairy named Felicity who loses her wings one day and has to go in search of them, making lots of new friends on the way. I love it; I’m proud of it; I was hoping beyond hope that this would be my first significant publishing credit.

Monday night, I got the rejection email:

“Unfortunately, while we appreciated the strengths of the writing, our readers did not respond enthusiastically enough to the piece as a whole for us to be able to offer one of our few publication slots.”

Bummer.

Now, I’ve dealt with rejection before, but this one hit particularly hard. I haven’t cared about a piece quite as much as this one in quite a long time, and it hurts to have it rejected. 

One of the problems with novel-writing is that it takes a LONG time to do, so until you’re finished, you don’t get much practice in submitting things—and thus having those things rejected. I’ve written plenty of short stories in the past year, some that’ve found success, others that haven’t, but those don’t take long to write. Those don’t seep into my body and find their way into my soul the way a longer work does. And “Lost Wings” was one of those pieces that buried itself within my heart.

So, what did I do in the face of rejection?

I cried, a lot. Went through half a box of tissues, at least. I felt my way through my disappointment and hurt.

I reached out to people for encouragement. I sought out connection and commiseration. I messaged my husband (who was at work for the night), my friends, and the writing stream community The Write Place (run by Scott Wilson). I found the support I was so needing that night.

And, lastly, I started searching for new places to submit my work. This isn’t the only play publisher in town, and “Lost Wings” may yet have a home. I just need to stay strong and seek other opportunities. I also found an appraisal service that evaluates your manuscript, which I signed up for.

What didn’t I do?

I didn’t grab that box of cookies sitting in my cabinet and indulge.

On the flip side, I also didn’t NOT eat dinner, trying to gain control over my life through control over my eating (I’ve always had slight anorexic tendencies). 

I didn’t just zombie-out and watch Netflix all night.

Basically, I cried, I felt my pain, but I didn’t wallow. I took proactive action to feel better. I didn’t fall down the rabbit hole of indulgent tendencies and poor decisions. Today, coming out on the other side of the immediate shock and pain, I’m proud of myself for that.

How did this proactive action come about so suddenly, you may ask? Because I’ve never before been quite this successful at dealing with discouragement. This week, I’m taking a course with Michael Bernhoff called Call2Action, and it’s all about learning about ourselves: the lies, the fraud, the excuses we tell ourselves to not get a particular thing done. On the very first day of the course, Michael pegged me as someone who needed to work on forward progress in her life. Stop giving into excuses and reasons why, stop using perfectionism as a form of procrastination. Just keep moving forward and keep the important stuff front and center.

These words resonated with me during the call, and they became even more invaluable later that night when I got my rejection letter and all my bad tendencies were roaring to rear their ugly heads. I repeated Michael’s words to me over and over again until I could begin that Google search for more publishing venues. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I was taking proactive action. I was doing instead of wallowing. And that felt so much better.

It cleared me out of my depressive funk far faster than anything had before. While I’m sure I would have gotten there in the end and searched for new publishers, it would have been days, at the very least. Not minutes or hours. So, I am grateful for this news to coincide with a breakthrough of my own in Michael’s Call2Action course. It helped me handle this rejection in a healthy way, and these tools will only continue to serve me as I progress in my writing career.

Rejection is a part of writing. I know that. It’s the price we pay for an existence of artistic living, getting to indulge our fantasies and go on adventures with our characters in our personal universes. It’s a wonderful life, and it’s a price I will gladly pay for trying to get my stories out into the world.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when it happens, and that’s okay, too. We’re allowed to cry. As long as it doesn’t stop us from writing.

What are your rejection stories, writing or otherwise? How did you handle the sting? What did you do to get back on the proverbial horse? Share in the comments below!