The Art of Criticism & Rejection

John W. Bateman

Executive Director

I got lucky with my very first novel draft more than a decade ago: I landed an agent.
48 publishers expressed interest in reading it.
48 said “no.”
Half of those publishers no longer exist and that novel remains unpublished.

As the rejections rolled in, they fell into 3 general buckets:

1. We like the characters, but not the writing.
2. We like the writing, but not the characters.
3. We like it, but don’t know how to market it.

No one agreed on the “no.” My then-agent said that no one offered substantive feedback that pinpointed a needed change. Still, I got rejected. It felt unfair after so much effort. Since that time, my writing has grown. I started writing in other forms, including scripts. Three have won awards of some kind. I’ve published a few short pieces, and have a southern gothic novel pending publication… and I still get rejected. And criticized.

I’m not alone. Neither are you. I recently asked artists to submit their horror stories of rejection and criticism: some funny, some tough medicine, and others simply insane. Take a look at these (names omitted):

• Published young writer: A professor told me I wasn't actually good at writing, but that I was funny enough to trick my classmates into believing I was a good writer through the force of my personality.
• Singer in L.A. with 2 albums: A manager I interviewed with said that I’m a hot shit who thinks I am more talented than I am, because I was used to being a big fish in a small pond. Also that my clothes/the way I dress didn’t make any sense.
• Prolific Mississippi actress, writer, filmmaker: "You just don't look believable as a love interest."
• Fashion Photographer in NYC: “Don’t send us anything again.” (They submitted a year later to that same agency and got hired.)
• Mississippi Performer and Director: “At your size, you will never be able to get a job as a fight director.” (Currently directs stage fighting in a summer program.)
• Published NYC Writer, Performer at an audition: "What’s with the beard? Is that like, a 'cool' thing?"
• Award-winning NYC Writer: “You write beautifully, but it’s not compelling.”
• NY Visual artist (whose work is owned by dozens of private collections): As a college freshman in the fine arts program, I was told I probably should rethink my major.
• Southern Visual Artist (whose work has been displayed at the Lincoln Memorial). First meeting with my art advisor when I started college, "I am going to encourage you to go into another degree field. I'm just not seeing any talent here."
• NY Visual artist (whose work is in the permanent collection of a respected museum): I had to stand on a stage in a charity auction and watch as no one bid on a piece of my work. They reduced the price and someone who worked the auction pity bid on it.
• Parsons Design Faculty: My advisor (at the end of three years of work): "I've read a lot of crap over the years--[long pause]--and this is a massive pile of crap." Ouch. And he was right. I knew I had something worthwhile to say, but also, in that moment, that my work would be worthless, unless I could shift my attention entirely to its organization for the reader.
• Award-winning Southern Actor: Mostly, I think i'm affected by reviews. From acting, writing, and audiobook narration. I think the one that stands out to me the most is the review for one of my audiobooks: "Listened to 2 hours of this because that's all I could stand. Do yourself a favor and buy the book , read it on your own. You'll be better off."
• Another Award-winning Southern Actor and Film-maker: From a casting director: "You have two big things working against you: First, you're a woman and second, your age. But, if you stick with it until you're grandmother age, you'll probably work a lot!"
• Voice teacher: Says a music teacher, to me, a freshman in college: “Your voice will never be the size of _________. I don’t know if this the right major for you.”
  
  

The funny thing about these examples (I know each person) is that every single one of them has a success story. Awards. Publication. Albums. Works in permanent museum collections and countless private collections. National tours. Faculty. Film-makers. Performers. Directors.

Each person remembers the criticism and the rejection. They also have one thing in common: they kept going. Some changed course, some responded. But they kept going.

Another 10 years, I continue to write. I have stopped counting rejections. I now submit as often as possible. With feedback and criticism, I do two things. First, am I having a gut reaction to it? Why? Does that tell me anything? Second, I take the things that land, and leave the rest. To sort out that question, I consider the source: do I respect or trust this creative? Do they read and write? Do they offer something helpful (perhaps a specific point)? Criticism, even rejection, doesn’t always mean “no.” It may mean “not right now.” Maybe the universe needs to gently steer me away from something, someone, or in a direction I didn’t consider. Perhaps it’s like the high school track coach, forcing me to clear a hurdle and prove my dedication (or my story, as the case may be).

The thing about creative work that distinguishes it from many other careers is how inherently intertwined it becomes with our identity. It’s a tough world out there, and we send our “selves” into the world constantly. Criticism and rejection is part of that weird process.

It’s not easy, but one thing is clear: my hurt feelings waste my creative time. Any moment I spend upset over a rejection (or even a perceived rejection) is less time I spend on my craft and what makes me feel in tune.

I’m human, though, and it doesn’t mean I don’t feel. Rather, can I turn that around? As an artist, how do I contribute to an arts community where criticism is helpful, feeds me…. and doesn’t stop me?

Keep going. Contribute to what you want to see.