The Fine Art of Rejection

     Anyone who has ever looked for a job (and what person over the age of 18 hasn't?) has probably experienced some form of the infamous rejection letter. If not, then you can count yourself among the well-qualified, well-connected, or extremely lucky individuals who seem to coast through life unscathed by disappointment or failure. Either that, or you're unemployed and have been for some time.
     The good news is that these demoralizing epistles have come a long way from their origins, back when typewriters were casually wielded by bored office workers for whom simple sentences were sometimes a challenge, and form letters were all the rage. In those days, the traditional rejection letter went something like this: "Dear Sir or Madame, we have reviewed your application for (insert name of position here) and have decided your qualifications are not the right fit at this time. We thank you for applying and will keep your resume on file for future consideration."
     Never once did any of us consider how large that file had to be. I always wonder if one day I will get a call from the school in California where I applied for an English teaching job in 1979, asking me when I can come by for an interview. "We kept your resume on file!" (the caller would announce cheerfully), "and at last have an opening that perfectly fits your qualifications." Wouldn't you just love to know what that could possibly be? Might be worth the airfare just to find out.
      In the field of writing, however, the art of rejection has reached a whole new level. Understanding that we authors, on the whole, are a sensitive lot, who tend to consider our literary output as closely akin to our biological offspring, the judges/editors/publishers to whom we send our creative treasures seemed to have adjusted, if not actually softened their approach.
     First of all, new technology has allowed the rejection letter to be personalized, which permits the sender to use your actual name in the salutation. This makes the writer feel as if he or she is well-known to the sender and will most certainly be remembered for his or her unique talent. Unless, like me, your first name is somewhat androgynous; then the salutation frequently reads "Dear Mr. Johnson..." I give these letters directly to my husband, who although he is not a writer, I feel might like the idea of being considered one, as receiving a rejection letter is the first true acknowledgement.
    Then there is the internal content of the letter itself. This, too, has been sensitively upgraded, I received one yesterday that actually thanked me for submitting my story and then went on to say how "we really enjoyed reading it." This, naturally, made me feel as if a number of judges had passed the story around a large conference table smiling and nodding approvingly. Plus, the letter then went on to say how "flattered" they were by the "interest in this contest," and how "lucky" they felt to have had "the chance to read all these wonderful stories."
      The next paragraph cuts to the chase. They do say how "sorry" they are that you weren't "short-listed," adding that they "had to decline some excellent stories." This is very sweet and all, but what I want to know is, was mine one of those that was so excellent, in which case, why did you have to "decline" it? Another rejection letter I received was equally "sorry," but added that they were "grateful for the opportunity to read such high quality work."
      Okay, so why not just join a book club...seems like an easier way to accomplish this. Who sends a rejection letter to John Grisham, for example? ("Dear Mr. Grisham, even though we enjoyed your novel tremendously, after reading it cover to cover while waiting to pick up our daughters from their ballet lessons, my book club and I decided we would rather just drink wine and gossip, instead of discussing your truly excellent plot and well-crafted characters.")
       My personal favorite rejection letter came recently from a competition I entered because it promised that the two editors of the publication "read and considered each and every entry personally." This definitely appealed to my inner socialist. The rejection letter was even signed "warmest regards" and then with their first names only! It was three lines long and with great enthusiasm, noted that even though my story was "not chosen this time," it was a "really good story and we were so happy to have read it!" At first, I wondered if I might have entered this contest before and that was why this letter sounded so familiar. Then I realized the response was identical to the one I received from my parents, when I wrote them what I felt was an award winning appeal for a raise in my allowance.
     I recently bemoaned my collection of rejection letters to my teenage grandson, because, well, grandchildren will sympathize with anything as long as you are feeding them junk food at the time. He sat there contemplatively (chewing) for a few minutes, and then said, "Look at it this way...at least you didn't get a break-up text." Not so far, thankfully, but being that this is the computer age, I fear that might be next.