By Mandira Pattnaik
It is not advisable for the well-published authors to view the plight of newbie, emerging writers as they grapple with the onslaught ravaged upon them by editors and publishers who view them less as blood-and-bone humans and more as names and email addresses. Neither is it advisable for those said nameless and uncelebrated writers, such as yours truly, to aim for hundred-or-so rejections, because, let us face this, it is, for want of a better nomenclature, simply a capitalist trap, a ploy to keep students, bored housewives and hobby writers, myself included, engaged. Especially those who have not much of a future except to dream of crowding into wannabe literary agents’ inboxes for that clinching book deal.
Okay, I enrage you. To be honest, there are several joys of being nameless and uncelebrated. And, there are joys, believe me, in collecting decline mails as badges to show-off in the one-in-a-billion chance that one does receive that-awesome-book-deal, or be conferred that-coveted-literature-prize. In fact, one might read them out to an audience eager to catch every word of their favorite author’s journey. Yes, indeed, trust me, this melancholy subject of getting rejected has its hugely satisfying fun moments. The opening paragraph above was one such—a moment of indiscretion, a self-pity loathing crafted into something borderline relatable to others.
“Declined” has its own lessons. For example, a decline email read first thing in the morning acts as an instant ego cleanse. If the publishing industry had a spiritual detox, it’d be a polite email starting with “Thank you for your interest. However…” Reading one decline email before even brushing or coffee, makes one more grounded, less dreamy. It teaches prudence and practicality. Not everything I write will be lapped up, of course. Not one single author, however famous or timeless, has had it that good.
A fashionable recourse for those who traverse through this fun place and ride the Ferris-wheel called writer-life is immediately trashing that wake-up-and-open decline mail. One may even name this behavior something like: Slaying the Beast of Crushing Disappointment, and counting after—How many beasts got caged in the Gmail Bin this week?
Each rejection, in my experience, apart from the fun part, also sharpens the ability to just keep going with a newfound resilience. Immature writers cry (I did too), the newly emerged ones sulk the whole day (my current stage), the evolved ones make erasure poems out of decline emails and post them on the net. Everybody has fun with those. For once, it feels powerful to belong to this great, moving body of Rejected Writers.
Beyond that, I recommend: a) a quiet time by the window (it usually works); b) looking at the trees, birds, greens; c) reading about the far more serious concerns of the human race that flood news media globally; and d) end up thinking how the earth revolves irrespective. Next, launch another new submission.
In any case, each resubmission becomes a testament to “I tried”/“I Dared”/“I have hope”. One sees growth, a pivotal transformation—and the will to remain unfazed even in setbacks. I recognize this realization happens to diminish my anxiety and aids in my creative output.
At some point in the future, I picture myself opening a rejection and feeling fine. Not joyful, not devastated—just fine. Will that not be true power? A level of emotional durability that can only be forged by repeated, respectful disappointment, and a stepping stone to becoming a higher being. Wisdom attained?
Well—the intention is far from sounding wise. I do not owe allegiance to that breed. I am erratic, and emotional. I rage and rant, become sloppy and desperate. But I care. I want to confess here that, on my part, I have turned my thoughts and tossed them around in my head for a while. I hope I am not mistaken but it seems declines even mean additional time to do other hobbies. I watch cinema. I tend to flowers. Some of my writer-friends make videos about their small-town. My other friend writes about retiring Bollywood stars with double chins that sign many advertisement deals. My god! I will lie if I say I do not hate them. I do. If there’s one thing that I wish changed in the media, it would be to never see the faces of those Bollywood stars again. Apologies—I digress.
It is true I am just a baby writer. If the emails throw in a few words of encouragement, I tell my family. I smile through the day. I post on social media, hoping the audience don’t presume that I am bragging. I make resubmissions of that piece with newly-watered enthusiasm. I do.
Again, decline mails make one a speed reader. Do I not scan for the word “unfortunately” and that’s enough? There is a parlance one gets habituated to. Let me call this a Working Fluency in Rejection Dialect. “We regret to inform you” is recognized instantly, no matter how deeply it’s buried under compliments. Skimming skills—check. Hope—check. Improved efficiency—check.
Because writer life keeps throwing NOs our way, a friend suggested we name this negative energy. Like “Rebound Energy” or something. It is definitely helping, because I am pushing against that “NO”, hoping to prove that the piece is publishable. This visceral response to setbacks ignites a fire within, is infinitely more compelling, and is (arguably) inexhaustible. What begins as a setback can morph, I’m sure, into an inspiring narrative of triumph and self-affirmation.
I’ve had experiences where I’ve secretly thanked a rejection because the piece was ultimately published in a dream venue of mine. When a piece received twenty-plus rejections, but then was accepted and selected for the year’s best in a global list, as well as Best of Twenty Years for that publication, I have really been thankful for those rejections. I’ve also never felt prouder, all because I persisted and did not give up on the piece.
Also I think that someday, maybe, I’ll no longer be a writer. I’ll trace these emails, read them again and again, just to tell myself how much I wished to have other people read my writing and thoughts.
Perhaps, I’ll have a future success story, and recognize this part of my life as the real foundation of that success. Perhaps, I’ll be dramatic in my retelling of the story of one particularly sad rejection.
To conclude, declines may not be what you desired for, but they come anyway—like the weather or a traffic congestion. Regard rejections identically, like the weather or traffic, that is, with contempt and helplessness. Remember rejection letters are generous teachers. They teach patience, persistence, and how to reread an email ten times to make sure it really does not say “We loved your piece”, until the next time a new email does say exactly that.
Bio: Mandira Pattnaik has published in The Cincinnati Review, The Rumpus, Wigleaf Top 50 (2023, 2025), Best Microfiction (2024) and BSF Anthologies (2021, 2024). Longlisted in Commonwealth Prize 2025, she writes across categories/genres. Her books include “Glass/Fire” (2024), “Where We Set Our Easel” (2023) and “White Hot Moon” (forthcoming). Visit mandirapattnaik.com
