Transcript for Writing Your Resilience Episode Ninety Six

Editor's Roundtable: When Every Submission Feels Like a No: Reclaiming Your Writing Confidence with Lynn Shattuck and Kristin Sancken

Listeners, have you been struggling to pick yourself up after experiencing one—or maybe many—rejections of your work? It’s an experience that can make you feel so alone, but I want to be the first to say that we’ve all experienced the self-doubts and even shame a big rejection can create. 

Those doubts are why I created my free Ditch Your Inner Critic masterclass. In just a few minutes, you’ll learn a simple process for shift from life with a snarky inner critic to working with the inner support you’ve been dreaming of. Be sure to use the link in the show notes to grab your copy today.

Consider it your adjunct class to the rejection strategies Lynn Shattuck, Kristin Sancken and I share in this episode. In it, we share our personal rejection experiences, how to reframe the “no’s” you’ve received, and how to pick yourself back up when the writing life feels tough. Be sure to stick around for the segment where I share what editors really mean when they say no to your work.  

Lisa Cooper Ellison [0:00]

Well, hello everyone. Welcome to the Writing Your Resilience podcast. My name is Lisa Cooper Ellison. I am a trauma-informed writing coach and your resident story alchemist, and I am so happy to be here with you, listeners—and also with Lynn Shattuck and Kristin Sancken—because we’re going to do another editors’ roundtable. So welcome, Lynn and Kristin.

Lynn Shattuck [1:20]
Hi! Yay!

Lisa Cooper Ellison [1:23]
I'm really excited because not only are we going to talk about writing, but we’re going to respond to an email I received from Robin Ryback. So, Robin, this episode is dedicated to you.

What I’m going to do, listeners, is read from her note first, and then we’ll dive into one of the biggest issues writers face—rejection.

So, let’s go ahead and start with her note:

“I know I’m not alone in my sometimes deep struggle with writer rejection—both personalized and form letters with ‘not interested’—after submitting a novel manuscript, short story, or poem. The feelings can come from being triggered by or being rejected and/or devalued as a child. I would love to hear your wisdom and suggestions. I know many other writers, especially women, face this, and it may be directly related to having to prove oneself.”

Raise your hand if you’ve ever had issues with writer rejection!

So, listeners, if you’re on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or another platform, you may not see our hands—all raised high in the air—and we’re doing a little Queen’s wave, right? Let’s make it a little royal here for a second.

But yes, this is an issue we all face, and I’d say it’s probably the number one reason writers quit working on projects or stop trying to publish.

We’re going to begin by talking a little about our own experiences of rejection, then discuss what to do with that and how to move forward when it feels really vulnerable.

So that’s what we’re talking about today. I’ll open the floor to whoever wants to share a rejection story—or which rejections hurt the most.

Kristin Sancken [3:19]
Yeah, for me, it was when I applied to several writers’ retreats that required submitting both my writing and a résumé—Storyknife Writers Retreat, which is a pretty big-name one up in Alaska for women, and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts (VCCA) here in Virginia.

Those are the ones that hurt the most because I’d submitted some of my best work and then didn’t get in—only to find out friends had. That’s what really stung.

It wasn’t just that I didn’t get in; I could have said, “Oh, you know what, there are tons of writers.” But to find out people I know—people I’ve taken writing classes with and feel I’m at the same level as—did get in… those were the biggest hurts.

I think if I can excuse it as, “I just have to keep working on my craft,” I can manage that. But when it feels like, “No, it must be me—because so-and-so got in or got published,” that’s when I take it personally and the rejections hit harder.

That’s the one I thought of when I was preparing for the podcast—those two retreats where I’ve seen friends get in.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [4:43]
Yeah, I’m just going to say ouch—because that really hurts when it happens.

And in that case, the big issue is comparison, right? We compare ourselves to others, and when we see our peers—people at the same level—getting what we want, it can make us question our abilities.

So, what about you, Lynn? What’s your rejection story?

Lynn Shattuck [5:11]
I think the one I remember most vividly—which probably means it hurt the worst—was when I sent a query to my dream memoir agent. She wrote back pretty quickly, but it was definitely a no.

It felt like such a long time coming—I’d worked so hard to reach that point, had this person on my list forever—and it felt like all that anticipation just met a big wave of disappointment.

I also think this must be what gamblers feel when they first send something out—that weird false confidence, like, of course they’re going to love this! Which doesn’t match the rest of my personality. I’m not a super optimistic person. But there’s some little dopamine rush that tells me it’ll be a yes, and when it’s a no, it’s disappointing.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [6:05]
Oh yeah, the thing that feels like a shoo-in—and then suddenly it’s not.

There are really three different stories I’ll tell—the very abbreviated versions, because I could talk all day about this (and we’re not going to do that!).

First, how many times I’ve been rejected: over 300. Yes—more than 300 rejections in my writing career.

Some of the worst:

• Early on, when I had that gambler’s high—“I’ve sent it out, it’s brilliant, it’s amazing, it’s going to get picked up!”—and then it was a no. A form no. I didn’t know what to do about it. I sent it again, same dopamine rush, same sting. I questioned my confidence, wondered if I should quit.
• A few times, I felt like something was a no-brainer. I’d earned it. I’d worked hard, put in the effort, and thought, “Of course it’ll be a yes.” And then it wasn’t—and that broke my heart.
• The third time was when I submitted something with trauma in it. It wasn’t a trauma dump—it was carefully crafted—but the response began with, “I’m so sorry for all the things you’ve been through.”

The entire letter was about my life, not my writing. It felt like pity, not respect. And that hurt differently—because it was personal.

So yes, there are professional rejections, but also deeply personal ones that dig into the stories we carry about ourselves.

What do you all want to say in response to that?

Kristin Sancken [9:01]
I’ve had that experience—telling someone a small part of my story, and they say, “Oh, I’m so sorry for everything you’re going through.”

And what’s funny—what many trauma survivors will recognize—is that you’ve often told them maybe 5% of your story. You think, oh honey, if that overwhelmed you, you’re definitely not the person I can tell the rest to!

But that’s on a different level. When it comes to writing memoir—especially trauma memoir—you’re putting both your craft and your life out there.

So, rejection can feel tangled. Are you rejecting my writing ability, or my lived experience? Because I can’t change the latter.

If it’s about craft, I can adjust pacing, tone, structure. But if you’re rejecting the story itself—the truth of my past—that’s a harder thing to sit with.

It’s like the Serenity Prayer: “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and the courage to change the things I can.”

If an editor dislikes the truth itself, I can’t change that. But if it’s about how I’ve presented it, I can work with that.

Editors who blur that line—commenting on what happened instead of how it’s written—can make rejection feel really personal.

Lynn Shattuck [11:00]
Yeah, it’s not that different from when someone says, “Oh, this must be really therapeutic for you to write.” It dismisses the craft entirely.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [11:13]
Yes. In fact, Lilly Dancyger, when I interviewed her for the podcast, said she really bristled at the idea of writing being “therapeutic,” because that lens—which seems less serious than “art”—is often applied to women.

Women’s work is seen as therapeutic. Men’s work? Artistic.

That’s one reason “navel-gazing” gets applied to memoir, when that’s not what’s happening.

So, when we think about rejection, we obviously have to deal with our feelings—and we’ll talk about that in a few minutes. But I want to pull back for a moment and ask: how do we know what to do with rejections?

There are tiers of rejection. I’ll go over them briefly, and listeners can find more details in the show notes.

• Form rejection: Usually means the writing isn’t up to par, or it’s not a fit for that publication. If you’re querying a book, it might mean your query needs work. If you’re submitting essays, poems, or short stories, it could mean the narrative arc isn’t clear or it doesn’t hook fast enough.
• Personalized rejection: “We love your work, but it’s not a fit for this issue.” That’s good news! They like your writing—submit again (but don’t rush). Often, it just didn’t match the theme or scope of the issue.
• Length matters: Many literary journals list 4,000–5,000-word limits, but the sweet spot—especially for emerging writers—is 1,500–2,500 words. Shorter is better, especially if you haven’t published there before.
• Highly personalized rejection: That means it was close—they’re fans of your work. Keep them on your list. Sometimes, they just don’t have space. With acceptance rates around 1–3%, there’s plenty of strong writing that simply doesn’t make the cut.
• And finally: The yes.

That’s a little background on how to interpret rejection tiers.

Lynn or Kristin, do you have anything else to add before we move to the emotional side—the part we actually have more control over?

Kristin Sancken [15:27]
Yeah, I would say what you mentioned earlier, Lisa—about those early-career rejections hurting the most—is absolutely true.

Partly that’s because I was new to the field and expected myself to perform like a professional when I was still an amateur. I didn’t allow myself space to learn or be a beginner. I held myself to an impossible standard.

I remember being at a literary conference where someone said, “You should shoot for 100 rejections a year.” I felt so overwhelmed by that number—like, 100 rejections would bury me! Still, I tried it for a year. I submitted every essay I had to as many places as possible, and it just wasn’t a strategy that worked for me.

As I got deeper into writing and craft, I learned what my submission strategy was. Every writer has a different one, and you have to do what works for you. That scattershot “send to every journal on Submittable” method works for some people—it didn’t for me.

What worked was figuring out: when I have a piece that’s ready to publish, how do I research the right journal for it? How do I make sure it’s a good match, instead of sending it everywhere?

If I know it’s an essay about parenting or motherhood, I’m not going to send it to a purely literary journal unless it’s highly literary in tone. Instead, I’ll look at places like Motherly or other outlets that specialize in those topics.

My acceptance rate went up when I started making smarter, more intentional decisions—working smarter, not harder. Those early rejections actually taught me how to submit better and make stronger matches between my writing and the audience it was meant to reach.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [17:41]
What about you, Lynn? What’s your submission strategy—or what did those early rejections teach you?

Lynn Shattuck [17:50]
It’s hard. It’s painful. And honestly, I sometimes wonder: would any of us do this if we had another choice? If there were another vocation calling to us, would we really choose something that puts us face-to-face with rejection over and over again?

Lately, I haven’t been submitting much—not for any particular reason, but because I’m just enjoying the process of writing again. It’s not about “going fishing” and seeing how many bites I get. It’s about how much writing I can do that truly fuels me.

Hopefully it’ll see the light of day—won’t just live on my flash drive—but pulling back has actually felt really good. Having that sense of agency feels nice.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [18:43]
Yeah, I love that you said that. So often, we submit work because we want to feel better about ourselves or to feel legit—like, “I’m a legitimate writer because my work is out there and getting published.”

But the truth is, if you sit down to write, you’re a writer. Period. End of story.

Now, if you want to be a professional writer—someone who gets paid for their work—that’s different. But being a writer means you show up to write.

Sometimes we get so tied to outcomes that we forget the joy and importance of simply writing.

In the beginning, I felt like, “I’ve got to get this publication—then I’ll feel like a real writer.” So, I sent out a lot of work. Like you, Kristin, that helped me build a strategy: where do I want to send my work, and how?

For me, timing matters—not just external timing or viral moments, but internal timing. I spend a lot more time listening inward.

For example, I had a piece published earlier this year that I’d written a year and a half before. I’d sent it out once or twice and nothing happened, but there was no energy around it. Then suddenly, I had this strong urge to send it out again—and that’s when it got picked up.

So, listening to that inner call is crucial, alongside finding good matches.

What happens, though—and I’ll raise my hand here because it’s happened to me—is that we go into our heads. Our mind says, you should send something out. You haven’t done that in a while. A real writer would have another publication by now.

And that kind of thinking derails the process. If it’s not time yet, those premature submissions just lead to more rejections—and we end up feeling worse about our writing.

Kristin Sancken [21:15]
Yes, definitely. And that approach—treating writing as an intuitive, spiritual process—can be hard to reconcile with the writing marketplace.

The two don’t always go together well, but we know the best writing comes from something deeper. When timing aligns—when both the market and the spiritual call say yes—that’s when the magic happens.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [21:46]
Exactly. And we have to believe in ourselves enough to let that timing unfold. That can be a tall order.

So, we’re going to shift gears. We’ve talked about strategy and tactics—how to interpret rejection and what to do with it—but now I want to dive into the emotional side.

Because sometimes when we get a “no,” it’s not about the work at all. Maybe it wasn’t a good fit. Maybe they had too many great submissions. Maybe it came down to factors we can’t even imagine.

But what can happen—especially for women and trauma survivors—is that the “no” doesn’t feel like a rejection of the work; it feels like a rejection of us. And that can become a source of shame.

For me, one major revelation after ten years of running my business was realizing: I was never taught how to fail.

I was taught that if I got a “no,” faced obstacles, or received rejections, it meant I wasn’t talented enough—and therefore should quit. Something must be wrong with me.

So, when those early rejections came—especially the ones I thought I’d earned—I felt deep shame. I thought, There’s something wrong with me. And that could send me into a spiral.

Kristin or Lynn, has that ever happened to you?

Lynn Shattuck [23:36]
I think if I have that kind of response, it’s a sign something deeper is going on—that there’s more personal work to do.

The more personal growth I’ve done, the less those rejections define me. They’re never fun—you don’t open your inbox and say, “Yay!”—but they don’t cut as deep anymore.

Earlier in life, I took rejection as a statement about me: that I wasn’t good enough. Now, I can see it as simply, “This piece wasn’t right for this publication.”

I’m not looking for approval anymore. I’m not waiting for an editor to tell me I’m good enough.

Kristin Sancken [24:21]
Yes, exactly.

I grew up in a high-control religion, and I learned to interpret rejection as God’s will—that if someone said no to me, it meant God didn’t want me either.

The weight of that was enormous. It wasn’t just that a publication didn’t want me; it felt like divine rejection.

Overcoming that pattern—learning that someone else’s “no” isn’t a sign from God—has been powerful. I’ve learned to see rejection as a business transaction.

Editors are thinking: Will this piece attract readers? Does it align with our mission? It’s not personal.

In high-control religion, everything becomes moralized—good or bad, right or wrong. But in publishing, a rejection isn’t spiritual. It’s not cosmic. It’s simply a “not this time.”

Lisa Cooper Ellison [25:29]
Yeah, I love that, because there’s so much about the story we’re telling ourselves about what’s happening. And like you said, Lynn, sometimes we have work to do—and that’s okay. We want to be willing to do the work.

So, I want to unpack this a little, just to give you a sense of how I do this, so that if you’re in the doldrums—feeling like, oh my gosh, I’m going to quit writing because this is just not fun and I’m feeling that shame—here’s how it works for me.

First, I have to know what’s going on, right? If I receive a rejection and I’m feeling really bad about it, I pause and let myself feel bad. It is okay to feel bad.

Because I think one of two things happens on social media: you’ll see someone share their terrible story and then there are a thousand messages of “You can do it! It’s okay!” And what does that say? On the one hand, it’s supportive and helpful—and that’s wonderful—but it can also imply your feelings are not valid.

The other thing you’ll see is people putting on a super brave face, wanting to be the superhero: nothing ever hits me; I’ve got a force field, and everything bounces off. And what does that say? Again: your feelings don’t matter.

So, if you’re hurting because you got a rejection that didn’t live up to your expectations, or you’re just tired because you’ve had a whole bunch of rejections—so many people have been there, and your feelings are valid. It’s absolutely okay to feel that.

Give yourself the chance to cry, walk around, rage—write a “fuck you” letter to that editor—but don’t ever, ever, ever, ever send it. Okay? Don’t ever send that. But it is okay if you’re feeling angry. You can feel angry and then write about it.

So, the first thing is: find ways to navigate your feelings in a helpful way. Sending rage letters to editors is never helpful—I want to say that again because it’s important.

After you’ve done that, use your writing process to ask: What’s really going on with me? What does this remind me of?

Usually, this is how you know there’s more work to do: A rejection happens, and you start having memories of other times in your life with the same emotional signature. Okay—what was going on in those memories? How did you react? How were you treated? What messages did you receive?

Once you understand the root cause, you can work with it. Get curious about the part of you that may still be stuck back there. Through writing, you can say: I’m here to learn from you and understand you. What do you need? How can I support you so we can move on together?

After you’ve worked with the feelings and the root cause, you can build strategies around what happened so you can talk to yourself differently. If you jump straight from “I got this rejection” to positive self-talk—Everything has a place; all writers face rejection; it’s just business—it likely won’t help if you haven’t gone through the whole process.

Give yourself time to do that. Then ask, okay, what do I want to do with this project?

Before we move on to the next question, does anyone have anything you’d like to share in response to that?

Kristin Sancken [29:34]
I mean, I always approach things from a polyvagal perspective—which is a fancy way of talking about how your nervous system works, especially the vagus nerve that runs from your brain down to your stomach.

One thing I know about myself: I go into dorsal vagal, which means I shut down. I become a mole—I don’t leave the house for a few days, I get quiet and still, I wrap myself in a blanket. I literally think my spirit animal is a mole, because that’s how I cope.

Sometimes giving myself permission helps: Okay, I received a big rejection or big news I didn’t want. Before I respond to anything, I’ll go down into that mole place where I feel safe and can process for a little while. I’ll listen to soothing music, drink tea, hug my loved ones.

That’s how I’m able to come back out of my little mole hole and re-engage with the world. Then I can look at the piece and do the intellectual work to make the changes it needs to meet the standard I’m aiming for.

So, like you were saying, go through the emotional process first. Give yourself permission to do whatever your body does after rejection—whether it’s rage or, for me, disappearing for a few days—while making sure you’re not letting anyone down. Check your email or put up an away message that says you’re taking a few days for yourself. Let yourself feel those feelings so you can learn to address that emotional signature.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [31:24]
Absolutely. And I would also say: stay off social media when that’s going on, because—100%—it’s the worst. Yes, it’s the fastest way to drop into comparison, and that won’t help you.

So, Lynn, when you’re thinking about this process, and you’ve come to those moments where you realize, oh, there’s more work to do, what’s been your go-to?

Lynn Shattuck [31:45]
I think it’s similar to what you’ve each said: take some time and let it roll over you. There’s usually a natural beginning, middle, and end to that process.

Having a writing community helps, because we can forget this is normal. It’s normal to mostly get rejections—that’s normal for writers. Having people who understand that, and who you can vent to a little, is helpful.

Another perspective: we live in a really fast-paced world. There’s a kind of hedonic adaptation—we get used to the good things and then we want the next thing. This isn’t good enough anymore; now I need a new car, or whatever.

Something I try to do is remember the wins and really savor them when they come. Celebrate them. Don’t shove them under the rug. For a long time, I tended to do that—and maybe, partly as women, we’re not taught to say, yay, I did this great thing! I got an acceptance! We’re not encouraged to do that.

But as writers, it’s necessary to savor wins and remind ourselves we are accomplished—that we’ve written good work.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [33:12]
I love that. Number one: make sure you have a writing community and that you’re talking to them. It’s fine to talk to a partner or non-writer friend, but they don’t always get how common this is. They’ll comfort you in the best way they can, but a writing community can normalize your experience—and when you hear how someone else has dealt with something, you can find new strategies, too.

Also, that hedonic cycle you mentioned—I’m glad you brought it up: the idea that we need more and better, faster and faster.

Two ways I want you to think about your accomplishments:

Number one, on a quarterly basis, look back and ask: What did I do well? What am I proud of? What are my wins? They can be anything. Doing this alone will shift your mindset.

Also, look for the win within your rejection—after you’ve gone through the emotional cycle. Don’t start there. Let yourself feel first. But then: we just talked about the tiers. Even if you got a form rejection, you showed up—and that’s amazing. If you got anything beyond “Thanks, but not for us,” then someone gave your work attention. If they said, “Please send more,” they like your writing.

Any of these can be wins. Use that information to bolster yourself.

When we think about this from a polyvagal perspective, there’s the emotion (and the story we attach to it), and there’s the physical response. Here are some polyvagal techniques to shake off rejection—angst, anxiety, rage, upset, whatever it is:

Number one, shake—or have a dance party. I have a writing class right now, and we have a dance party at the intermission of every class. It’s very fun—and you’re literally shaking out that energy.

You can also use Emotional Freedom Technique (EFT), a form of tapping. I’ll put a link in the show notes if you want to learn more. Tapping helps you rewire your nervous system.

Or just go for a walk.

You have plenty of ways to work with the body’s response so you can get back to baseline and then decide what to do after a rejection. The publication said no—but the work might still be a yes inside you.

So, as we begin to wrap up: what do you do when the work is a yes for you, but it’s been a no for other people? I want to give this to you first, Lynn, because you have a powerful story about what you did with that. Yeah.

Lynn Shattuck [36:24]
So for a really long time, I wanted to publish an anthology of writing on sibling loss, because there just isn’t much literature on the topic. For a couple of years, my co-editor Allison and I worked on compiling these essays.

I had that gambler’s mindset—Yeah, we’ll send this to Sounds True, and of course they’ll publish it.

That’s not how it went. We heard a lot of radio silence and a lot of “This is sad—too sad,” or “This seems important, but we don’t know where to sell it.”

Because we’d done so much work and held these stories people had trusted us with, we eventually decided to publish it ourselves.

Hearing that it was “too sad” or “hard to market” mirrored the experience of sibling loss itself—how that grief often goes underground. At some point, we just thought, Screw this. We’re doing it anyway.

We knew there were people who would buy it. We believed in it—and in the stories we’d collected—enough to move forward. It became an act of defiance in a really empowering way.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [37:47]
And I’m blessed to be one of the authors in this anthology. A link to the anthology will be in the show notes, because one of the best ways to support people who believe in themselves is by buying their work. You’ll have that opportunity as part of this episode.

So, yes—you decided that accepting the no felt too similar to accepting the silence that surrounds sibling loss. Instead, you changed the story by claiming your agency and publishing your work.

I think that’s one of the most powerful things you can do: take the power back into your own hands and decide what you want to do. Whether that means self-publishing or not, it’s about agency—choosing for yourself.

Kristin, what are some things you’ve done to say yes to yourself and your work, even when you’ve been receiving rejections?

Kristin Sancken [38:47]
One of the biggest things I’ve done is create my own Substack. There are essays I know people need to read that may never make it into a journal—either because they’re too niche or because I don’t have time to submit with those long lead times.

Journals often need three to six months, and sometimes you just know, this should be published next week. You don’t always have time to wait for an editor. You know it needs to be out there now.

Creating my Substack has been great for that. It’s also given me direct feedback about what resonates with readers and what doesn’t. Sometimes I’ll think a piece is amazing—and people barely respond. Other times, something off-the-cuff or silly really connects.

It’s been fascinating to look at the data and see what lands. Giving myself a way to connect directly with readers—especially when I don’t feel like going through the submission process—has been hugely helpful.

I also have several book manuscripts I’ve drafted many times. I just have this gut feeling that they’re not ready yet. So, I keep working, keep praying, and keep trusting that the right person will come along at the right time to help them find their place—or help me bring them to the next level.

It might sound crazy to anyone focused on making money from writing, because it means sitting on work, not publishing it. But I have faith that they’re not ready yet—and they’ll tell me when they are.

So, for me, when something feels like a big yes, but I keep hearing no, I do one of two things:

Like Lynn said, I find a way to self-publish—Substack has been that space for essays.

Or I sit on the work as long as it needs, checking in periodically: What could I change this time? Does it need anything? Is it ready?

And when I realize I’ve gone as far as I can on my own, I bring in help. With one of my new manuscripts, I hired a developmental editor—because I thought, you know what? I do this for others. Why not for myself?

Professional athletes hire coaches to shave half a second off their times. Even the best of the best seek guidance.

So, there’s no shame in saying, I need a professional eye—or another writer friend—to see what I might be missing.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [41:39]
Absolutely. And I would say that the best coaches have coaches themselves. That’s definitely true—and it’s been my experience, too.

There are two writing experiences I want to talk about, in terms of work that has been shelved and work that’s still in process as we wait for the right time.

Last time we had an editors’ roundtable, we were talking about metaphors, and I mentioned a poem I wrote a long time ago—almost thirty years ago. (I hate to say that number out loud, but it’s true!)

It was very meaningful to me. I sent it out a few times, and it got rejected. But I’d also worked with Frank Bidart, a well-known poet who came to our school, and he said wonderful things about that piece. So, I knew there was potential.

Still, it was rejected. This was early in my career, and it wasn’t fun. And I’m really going to date myself here by saying how I submitted it: back then, you had to write a cover letter—often handwritten because you might not even have a typewriter—and include a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE). Then you’d wait forever, and when that envelope finally came back, it usually meant rejection.

That happened. So, I put the poem away and told myself, “Okay, it’s not meant for prime time.”

Recently, I picked it back up and thought, wow, I see why Frank Bidart said all those great things. I also saw why it was rejected. And now, because I’m a much better writer, I can make those changes and send it out again—because it’s calling to me.

That’s how I know the energy is there.

I have other projects I’d love to see published right now, but they need more work—and I know it. Part of being a good writer, even a great writer, is setting your ego aside to create truly great work. Every project has its own timeline, and you have to know when it’s ready. That’s rarely fulfilling to the ego.

Another example: I wrote an essay that I sent out multiple times and heard nothing. I got discouraged and put it away. But it kept calling to me. I’d think, you know, little essay, I really love you. There’s something here.

So, I’d say a little prayer over it, revise it again, send it out—and get more rejections. Eventually I thought, maybe this essay just isn’t meant for the world.

Then, in 2017, I attended the HippoCamp conference. (Kristin, you were there with me.)

Kristin Sancken: Yeah, we went together.

Lisa Cooper Ellison: Yep! We were at lunch, and I happened to bump into the Kenyon Review editor—Geeta. I’d seen her at another writing conference the previous year. And just to be clear, I wasn’t being creepy or pitching anything! Don’t do that.

I simply said, “Oh hey, Geeta, it’s great to see you again. I really loved your presentation,” which happened to be about rejection. She’d said something that stuck with me—that a quick rejection is actually a gift, because it lets you move on. It’s so much better than waiting six or nine months.

So, we chatted about that, and then I asked what she was working on. She told me, and then she said, “What are you working on?” I mentioned I had a few essays, and she said, “Send me one.” She told me exactly how to send it so it would bypass the slush pile and go directly to her.

She read it and passed it along to the managing editor, who made the final call. And it was a yes.

What was wild is that several lower-tier journals—less prestigious publications—had rejected that same essay. It had been rejected 25 times.

But I’d had an internal yes about that piece. I knew it was good. So, I sent it out one more time, with a prayer—and it worked out.

I’ll link that essay in the show notes if you’d like to read it.

All of this is to say: you’ve just heard three different ways people deal with rejection and make decisions. There are infinite possibilities.

What’s most important is:

1. Attend to your own experience.
2. Make decisions based on your internal knowing, not from a place of needing to prove yourself.
3. Love your art—love it enough to make it the best it can be, understanding it may take many, many drafts.

That piece that was rejected 25 times? I probably wrote 75 drafts of it—no joke. But it was the 75th draft that was ready for the world.

So, we’re going to wrap up now with just three bits of encouragement for you.

Kristin, I’ll pass the baton to you first. What do you want to say to Robin—and to all the writers out there experiencing rejection and looking for their next step forward?

Kristin Sancken [47:58]
Gosh, I really liked what you said about the ego—that often there’s a greater truth in the story or essay that’s more important than your own ego.

In service to that greater truth, you’ve got to get out of your own way.

Believing in that greater good connects you to the collective. If you can keep doing that, you’ll keep moving forward. What about you, Lynn?

Lynn Shattuck [48:21]

Yeah, I love that. I don’t want to just say “ditto,” but kind of ditto.

It may be different for each of us but find a way to tap into that place where it feels like you’re a channel. It’s not “I, Lynn, am writing this essay,” but “I’m tapping into something the universe is asking me to channel right now.”

Whether that comes through meditation, walking, or another process—whatever helps you reach that place—that’s really, really good advice.

Lisa Cooper Ellison [48:56]
Thank you both—that was beautiful.

I’ll wrap up by saying this: your story matters.

It matters first and foremost to you, and it’s the art you’re here to put into the world. Trust that. Trust this process.

There are so many writers ahead of you, extending their hands to help you move forward. Your job is simply to look up, reach out, and allow yourself to be supported.

We’re three people here saying: we’ve been there, we know what it’s like, and we’re cheering you on as you continue to show up.

If you’re at the point where you’re submitting your work—you’re showing up—that’s incredible. You’re paving the way for someone behind you who hasn’t yet reached this stage.

Your courage is magnetic. It helps you move toward your dreams, and it inspires others. When you show up, you inspire someone else to do the same. When you experience a setback and keep going, you give someone else permission to persevere.

That is powerful.

Trust in the power of what you’re doing. Know that you have everything you need—and infinite possibilities for getting your work into the world.

When your work is ready, and you remain open and willing, it will find its readers—the ones who need it most.

And we thank you for writing it.

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And that, my friends, is the real freedom writing can offer you.