Articles and other ramblings

Writers are all too familiar with rejection. But there’s a more unusual type of rejection I don’t see much about online – the revise and resubmit rejection.

What it is

A rejection – but, it’s not the “and the horse you rode in on” type of rejection. Sometimes instead of just being told “No” by a publisher, the author gets a “no, but…” A revise and resubmit rejection says the publisher doesn’t want it as it is, but if the author is prepared to get the red pen back out and make some specified changes, they will be prepared to consider it again.

What it’s not

It is not a guarantee that they will take it if you make those changes, only that they will consider it again. It’s not a contract. It places no obligations on either party.

Why to take it seriously

The publisher is not just being nice when they send one of these. If they wanted to be nice they’d send you a firm no, but with some useful feedback. If they say they want to see this story again with some changes, that’s what they mean. People in publishing already get a ludicrous amount of submissions. They won’t encourage more email unless they really want it. 

And asking to see it again if they didn’t really mean it wouldn’t be kind to you. It would just be a waste of the time you could have used trying other publishers and agents. So if you get one of these, take it seriously. It means what it says.

What to do if you get one

Okay, so here’s the meat of it. You’ve got one, you understand what it is. Now what?

Take the time to think about it

The temptation is to instantly resist the idea. You’re stung by the rejection. The changes they ask for might well be a lot of work and there’s still no guarantee of acceptance at the end of it. On first reading the changes suggested might sound totally wrong for your book. It’s very easy right after you get their mail to think ‘NOPE!’ and send the book out to someone else right away.

Don’t give in to this immediate reaction. Consider it carefully. Sleep on it. Write about it in your journal. Run it past your friends. Yes, doing it might mean a couple, or a few, more months of work. But that might be better than a year of rejections. Maybe when you think it through the suggestions make more sense. Editors generally know what they are talking about. I know when I got one of mine, one of the changes suggested initially made me think “No way! That changes everything.” But the next day I started thinking “Actually, that could work.”

Decide

NO

If it’s a no-go, if the suggestions don’t click with you, then query elsewhere. Maybe another publisher will love it just as it is. There’s nothing wrong with deciding not to do it, as long as the reason isn’t pure laziness. Maybe their suggestions change what you’re trying to achieve with the book and you don’t want to sacrifice that. Maybe they just aren’t the right publisher for that book.

YES

If yes, do you tell them you’re doing it? You don’t have to. You’re not even obliged to resubmit to them after you make changes (barring any other contractual obligations you might have of course!) But if you’ve already got a relationship with the editor then you may find it useful to run your plans and ideas by them for feedback, so would want to tell them in that case. But really, it’s up to you.

Then get on with it. Knuckle down and do the work. Keep an open mind on the changes. Don’t feel like you’re compromising your vision. Make those changes feel like the way your book was always meant to be. Exceed the editor’s expectations.

When you’re ready to resubmit, revise your synopsis and query letter as needed and send it in whatever way they requested – whether that’s to a specific editor, or general submissions, via your agent, or whatever. If in doubt, follow their usual submission guidelines. But, give them a reminder that it’s a resubmission, especially if it’s been a few months (these people read a lot of stuff!) You can give a brief rundown of the changes you’ve made in your query letter. But keep it brief!

Wait patiently as you did before. (And get on with something else.)

I had two R&R rejections early on. So what became of them? They both sold on the second try - so yes, I made the changes and they worked. They're the books called Higher Ground and Ganymede Tilt. Was it hard? Well it was a bit of a blow to the confidence at first. But I picked myself up and knew I could make the changes. Higher Ground wasn’t too hard. I added about 15,000 words to the start of the story, added a new chapter later on in the story and made a few other smaller changes and that was done.

Ganymede Tilt on the other hand was a much bigger job, even though it’s a shorter book. I took it apart and reassembled it. Characters disappeared. Other characters changed their jobs. The central relationship started off quite differently and Alex changed quite a bit. It was hard work, but it was great experience and showed me that I could make such extensive changes and then sell the book afterwards.

I hope that’s some useful advice for you should you ever receive an R&R. They mean more work, yes, but they are a good sign that the book is almost there.

What is an albatross book? It’s a book you’ve been working on for a very long time but essentially is dead weight. It’s dragging you down, like the albatross hung around the neck of the Ancient Mariner. I lugged around two albatross books for years without even writing them. Only after I got rid of them could I start to actually write.

It’s usually the first novel. Or your Great Novel. Your magnum opus that will shake the literary world to its core – if you ever get around to writing it/submitting it/selling it. If you have actually written it and started submitting it, it’s getting rejected, but you keep on editing it and keep on trying because my god twenty years of blood, sweat and tears has gone into this thing!

Albatross identification guide

1. It’s HUGE.

The albatross book is rarely a slim volume. It’s an epic. If it’s epic fantasy then it really puts the EPIC into the genre name. Whatever, it’s way longer than books in that genre usually are. Why is it huge? Because over time it bloated as you put more and more in there. And because when you wrote it you didn’t have the skills to make it shorter. The size almost certainly damages the story, making it unfocused and episodic.

2. It follows the lead characters pretty much from birth to death.

This contributes to problem number one. Maybe you started out with that summer, that important summer the main character fell in love. But then you had this important stuff from his teenage years, and his childhood, and then “they lived happily ever after” isn’t enough! How exactly did they live happily? Etc.

3. You’ve been planning it for many many years and have never written it.

You’ve made notes. Oh hell have you made notes! You’ve got more words in notes than would ever be in the book. You have character profiles for everyone including the taxi driver who has one line in chapter 107. You’ve got drawings of the characters, in every different outfit they wear in the book. You know the backstory of all of them. You have maps, floor plans, designs for spaceships… You have so much stuff you have a wiki. You’ve invented a language. But you still haven’t written it.

4. It has a cast of thousands.

It’s a good job you have that wiki, because you have so many characters they need their own HR department. This story makes Endgame seem thinly populated.

5. You first thought of it when you were a kid.

This can be tricky. If you first came up with the idea when you were a teenager there’s a good chance that the story will always betray those origins. That at its heart it will lack the maturity and sophistication you’re capable of now.

So what do you do with this giant dead bird?

1. Dump it.

This is very hard. You’ve usually been working on it for a long time and you want to see some reward for that. But it may be that you’re best off cutting your losses, taking what you’ve learned from it and moving on.

2. Pick out just one part of it and make that the book.

It might be the very first part of it you thought of. The heart of the story. All that other stuff will help you understand the characters better, but it doesn’t have to be in the book. Find that core of the story that’s been lost under the hundred layers. Be ruthless with replanning or editing it.

3. Make it a series.

Maybe this is all good stuff, but there’s just too much of it. Maybe you do want to follow the character on the long journey of life. But if you cram it all in one book it loses focus, you don’t have a chance to milk each important part before you’re on to the next and the reader forgets about it by the end. Split it into a series! Or…

4. Make it into several unrelated books.

One of my albatrosses I reckon I could have turned into about half a dozen unrelated books. There were so many people and I had so much about their past before they all came together, that there was enough to sustain several novels even before the main action of the story started! With a first book you tend to want to cram everything in that you’ve ever thought of. Don’t. Save it for another book where it will have the chance to be in the limelight.

5. Strip it for parts.

Not quite the same as 3 and 4. You might not end up writing anything remotely like the original idea, but maybe there are scenes you just love, characters who still resonate. Use them! Write something entirely different, but use that scene or that character. Several characters and scenes from my albatross books have made it into other stories before and after I went pro. They can end up in entirely new places from where they started and of course I had to be ready to adapt them to make them fit. But I know where they were “born.”

So, take a look at that book that may be weighing you down and keeping you from moving on. Step back and eye it objectively. Maybe you need to get over yourself and admit that it could be fatally flawed and will never exist or sell in the form you originally envisaged. But there may still be something you can salvage from it