Open House

One of my sto­ries got rejected today. It didn’t upset me. Dis­ap­pointed, yes. Upset, no. When a writer sends out a query let­ter, a story, a par­tial, or full, he is ask­ing the recip­i­ent, “Do you think you can sell this?” The answer is either yes or no. Noth­ing more is necessary.

The ques­tion you ask in a query is not, “Do you think I’m a good writer? Or per­son?” My sto­ries have got­ten passes from dear friends, folks who have remained friends, so they clearly think I’m okay on some level. No one has ever can­celed a din­ner with me because they didn’t buy my work.

Today’s edi­tor was kind and took the time to explain why it was a pass, which was a ter­rific thing for her to do. Her com­ments may help me sell the story to the next edi­tor. Or maybe, the next edi­tor will like the very thing this edi­tor dis­liked. It hap­pens. A lot.

It’s much like sell­ing a house. Total strangers come traips­ing through your place, decid­ing if they like what they see, won­der­ing if they could stand liv­ing in this space. Most buy­ers pass. If you get lucky, more than one buyer will want to make an offer. But it only takes one buyer for a sale.

Really, though, if she’d said, “Thanks, but it’s not for me,” that would’ve been fine, too. I’m try­ing to sell my work, so this is the equiv­a­lent of “no sale.” It is not a neg­a­tive ref­er­en­dum on my abil­ity. My first thought when I read it was, oh good, now I can send it to some­one else. My sec­ond thought was, hey, she’s will­ing to read other sto­ries. Buttah!

By the way, I’m hav­ing an open house next week. All edi­tors all wel­come. Bring snacks.

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