Just an Editor Who Can't Say 'No'

A Literal Literary Loser Paraphrases 'Oklahoma'

Exactly two months ago, on September 13, I pitched a rather timely news story to an editor of a print and on-line publication.

They responded, “We could consider something, yes, Alina—but it should be under 1,000 words.”

I understood that it wasn’t a commission or a guarantee. But it was definitely an invitation to submit and be considered.

I wrote the article, complete with statistics and quotes from relevant parties, and turned it in a week later.

Because it was hinged on a news hook, I followed up a week after that. And then a month after that.

I heard nothing. Not an acceptance, not a rejection, not a request for revisions. Just radio silence.

Because I didn’t want my work - not to mention the generosity of those who’d taken the time to give me a quote on an important issue - to go to waste, I then sent the piece on to a half-dozen other outlets, all of whom, right there in the writer’s guidelines on their websites, promised they’d get back to authors within the week or two at most.

That was a month ago. Only one got back to me as advertised, to say that they’d take a look and let me know.

They have not let me know.

Even though I have been advised by many that what I suffer is now known as Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria - in that I feel any sort of rejection; professional, personal, imaginary, as a physical pain that takes me days to recover from as if from an actual blow to the stomach - I have also, after 30 years in the writing trenches, gotten used to it. (The same way I figure boxers get used to being smacked in the face.)

I wouldn’t say that I enjoy rejection (does anyone, really?). I wouldn’t say I let it roll off my back (there are some I am still stewing over a decade later). I wouldn’t say that I’ve grown immune to it (it’s still a gut punch every single time). But I have accepted it as the price of doing business if I want to do the kind of work that I love more than anything in the world. (There is no such thing as an ADA accommodation for being laid flat by rejection.)

Which is why I know what I am asking for when I ask to be rejected.

Please, editors, reject me. So that I can stop living in limbo and move on, which means either continuing to submit my piece elsewhere or to junk it forever.

I’ve been pitching and writing professionally for three decades now. Back in the days when you not only had to mail your offering, but include a self-addressed stamped envelope, so that you were also paying for them to reject you, I had bulging folders of rejection letters. I can take it.

I want to take it.

I also want to know: When did editors stop sending out rejections and just default to “ghosting” writers, like a bad Tinder hook-up? (Look at my use of hip, up to date references! I have almost caught up to this century!) Is no answer supposed to be somehow kinder than a “no” answer? Is that the ADA accommodation?

Has this happened to you? How have you dealt with it? I am open to suggestions!

***

When people ask me how I have navigate a writing career while being such a ridiculously hyper-sensitive person that, according to my mother, I couldn’t even eat as a toddler unless she sat me facing a blank wall so I wouldn’t be overstimulated and, back in the days before email, I would script out phone conversations (not to mention chicken out by calling people when I suspected they wouldn’t be around so I could leave a message on their machine and avoid human interaction), I tell them: It’s because I know that people have had to live through much, much, much worse things than we spoiled citizens of the United States in the 21st century.

To whit: My daughter and I discuss the USSR’s Great Terror via Eugene Yelchin’s graphic novel, “Breaking Stalin’s Nose.” Watch at: