Rejection Is a Writer's Best Friend (Oh, The Joy of Being Slapped in the Face by Strangers)

Rejection is a writer's best friend.

Without rejection we would be insufferable fools. We would sit in dark cafes and talk about our Nobel prizes till everybody dropped. We would have sex with nearsighted librarians, and students would write annoying Phds about our work.

If we writers never were rejected we wouldn't grow. That's why God invented rejection. That's why He created writer's block and dandruff and editors who think they're authors. We have to suffer to get better; we have to learn by being slapped in the face, and we have to believe in ourselves no matter what people say.

I know a thing or two about rejection. When I was eighteen I decided that my life only would have meaning if I were published before I was twenty. I dug an amazing hole for myself: If I hadn't signed my books in Copenhagen's biggest book store before I left my teens, I was a failure in my own eyes.

Little did I know that it would take me sixteen years before my first novel came out. That happened when I was 34 after "wasting" my twenties writing screenplays and satire for Danish national radio and TV.

I was reminded of all this when Evolve Journal was kind enough to interview me about rejection. "Why do they want to talk with me about that?" I asked with a hint of a paranoia, but then I accepted the challenge, with my usual lack of grace.

Here's an edited excerpt from my June 15 interview:


Evolve:
Have you developed any coping mechanisms to help you deal with the rejections?

PHF:
Sure. In my twenties I solved the problem by drinking like a pig. Today I simply try to take myself less seriously. That’s a very helpful approach because you’re bound to get bad reviews for your stuff. But don’t let them get you down, and for God’s sake, don’t answer your critics like you're a spoiled toddler who didn't get the popsicle you wanted. Just develop a thicker skin.

Evolve:
How long after you started consistently writing and submitting before you were convinced you’d be able to make it as a writer?

PHF:
Well, I became a professional playwright and comedy writer when I was in my twenties, but my dream was always to write novels. However, it took me almost 16 years before any one would publish them. And my first one was panned by almost all reviewers!

Evolve:
When this happened was there a change in how you took rejection?

PHF:
No. The bad reviews stung like crazy, especially because I felt totally misunderstood. I’ve never written the way you’re “supposed” to if you want to be a critic’s pet. So I had a rough start, but now I’ve had lots of novels published in Denmark with some great reviews, too - and a few are out in English, French, and Portuguese, so today I care less if people don’t like my writing. However, a nice email from a reader or a good review can still make my day!

Evolve:
The Tsar’s Dwarf is the only one of your twelve novels available in English. Do you think your next book will come out in both languages or is that still up in the air?

PHF:
I’m writing one in English now. I started working on it in February 2009, and I hope I’ll finish it later this year or early next year, so it better come out in the US or I’m going to sulk.

Evolve:
Lastly, what advice can you give the aspiring writer crippled by rejection letters?

PHF:
Never give up; always believe in yourself, but be smart enough to learn from your rejections. Don’t become angry and bitter for more than a month. (A month is okay; we're all humans)

But hey, if everybody rejects you, there’s almost always a reason for it. Too many people think they can write a good book during their vacation or if they're laid off from work. "Okay, I have two choices, either I'll kill myself or I'll write a thriller" seems to be the way a lot of people operate.

But good writing isn't easy. Respect the craft, keep at it no matter how many rejections you get, and only write if you love doing it. If your chief motivation is to become rich and famous, try out for game show host instead.

God bless wordsmiths, everywhere!

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Why I'll Never Forget Sam Shepherd As Long As I Live

1.
It happened on a hot day in July 1980.

Everybody was sitting at a long table waiting for the Master. And it wasn't just young students like me. It was professional actors and writers from Hollywood who were going to work on His play at the Padua Hills Playwriting Workshop outside L.A.

Sam Shepherd entered, tall and shy, and threw himself into a chair. He wasn't known as an actor back then but as a poet and playwright who'd just won the Pulitzer Prize for Buried Child. Everybody was ready to write down His words of wisdom, so we all could become instant artists and win the Pulitzer ourselves one day.

Sam Shepherd looked us over and said: "So what do you want to talk about?"

We all glanced at each other. What a strange thing for the Master to say. Wasn't He going to give us the recipe for greatness, the Keys to the Kingdom, the magic wand that could turn any cliche into pots of gold?

A few started to ask Him about Buried Child and other of His plays, but the Master shook His head, "I'm here to talk about your writing, not mine." Then He sent us out into the hills with an assignment. "Write what you feel in your body."

We looked disappointed at each other and walked into the hills, hoping not to come across one of the coyotes or rattle snakes that roamed in the area.

After an hour we came back, sat at the table, and read loud what we'd written. Sam Shepherd was honest and soft spoken. There wasn't any "what a great sense of place" bullshit here. There was no "Gosh, I loved it, but ..." Only a few crisp words from the Master to the dramatist students who now had been forced into poetry by the rugged hills.

We did this four days in a row. At every session the Master would praise two or three pieces, never more. To my huge surprise, I got encouraging feedback twice and was very proud of that. But more was to come.

The fourth and final time I read my piece, Sam Shepherd did something He hadn't done to anyone during His stay. He stared me down for a few seconds without saying a word. "Oh my God, what have I done?" I thought. Was America's greatest playwright going to punch me in the mouth?

There was a long pause, then He said, "You have an incredible sense of imagery. You should really cherish that." Pause. "Yeah, you should really cherish that."

My mouth dropped. I almost died of happiness on the spot. After all, I was just a foreign student and the only one out of twenty writing in my second language. And everybody had hated my funny stuff before Sam Shepherd had taken over the teaching.

The next two nights I couldn't sleep. I felt as if I was high on mushrooms. I wrote a short play that later was produced at my school, Cal State Fullerton - and when I moved back to Denmark, an altered version on DR, the national Danish TV-station in 1986 that did quite well.

In a certain sense, my professional career started when those words came out of Sam Shepherd's mouth. They became my antidote when I got disappointing reviews for my first novels in Denmark; they protected me against self-doubt and inferiority complexes when people accused me of being a light weight. It hurt me but I knew it wasn't true. Sam Shepherd had seen me, really seen me.

And what none of us could know was that my best work actually was going to be my serious novels. His words were a gift from God, and I won't forget them as long as I live.



2.
So why am I writing this on my fluffy blog - to brag? Yes, absolutely, but also because I learned how important it is to encourage others, especially when you really mean it.

At The Padua Hills Playwriting Workshop, Sam Shepherd wanted people to write about what they'd experienced themselves. He didn't want any bullshit no matter how great or poetic it sounded. And his comments to us students reflected that.

I was reminded of all this a few days ago when I saw Shepherd in Black Hawk Dawn and The Notebook on TV. I got goosebumps all over when I saw Him because He has meant a lot to me as a writer and as a writing teacher.

Be honest in your writing. If you're funny, be funny. If you're poetic, be poetic. If you're weird, be weird. Write what you are; not what you want to be in ten years!

And remember to encourage students on your way when you see something in them that they might not even be aware of themselves ...


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