Handling Rejection:
Don't Burn Your Bridges
by Sherri Langton

"I'm not writing for you anymore!"

Fortunately, the editor never heard those words; I internally screamed them at the computer when I read his e-mailed rejection notice. Three months earlier, he had liked my carefully crafted query and had signaled "all clear" to write the article on spec. I poured my prayers and skill into the piece. In four months I completed the article; in two days the editorial staff rejected it—not because of the writing, this man explained, but because the ideas just weren't fresh enough.

What?! I silently snapped. My mind raced back to my first contact with the magazine. The query spelled out those ideas. If they weren't fresh in the final product, then they weren't fresh at the query stage. The editors should have caught this weakness when I first proposed writing the article, not after I finished it.

Second Thoughts

I pushed away from my desk and stomped outside, hoping the fresh air would calm me. It didn't. I tried to pray, but hurt cropped each sentence. I paced and spewed discouraging remarks no one but God could hear. The most leaden of all was "I don't want to write anymore—especially for this magazine."

Maybe I would have carried through with that threat, but several things stopped me. This magazine had published me before—a number of times—and paid me handsomely. Its title glistened on my list of publishing credits. I respected the staff and the work they did. If I lashed out at the editor, I'd probably burn my bridges with the magazine and taint my reputation. Worse, I'd transgress Paul's words in Colossians 3:12, 13: "Therefore, as the
elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do" (NKJV).

Paul is saying that burning bridges isn't the issue with God; handling disappointment in a Christ-like spirit is.

Second Chance

Calmer but still smoldering, I returned to the keyboard and forced my fingers to type a cordial response to the editor: "Could you please explain more why the article didn't work? I guess I don't understand why you didn't catch the lack of freshness in the query."

In five minutes, he zipped back a warmly worded reply detailing the article's flaws. He said that near the end of my piece, I touched on a key issue he felt would connect more with readers but needed more development. The subject matter was a passion of mine; I couldn't let it flit off the radar forever. After a few more e-mail volleys about particulars, the editor granted me a second chance to overhaul the article with a new, fresher angle.

I'm glad I followed his advice. That rewrite was the most satisfying writing I'd done up till then, and carved out greater takeaway for the reader. The editorial staff overwhelmingly applauded it, and I banked the largest sum I've ever been paid for an article. I also salvaged a relationship with a magazine that I was prepared to burn—all for a few stinging minutes of rejection. Most important, I let my emotions cool and kept the bond of peace (Ephesians 4:3).

Is that the last conflict I expect to log in my writing routine? Hardly. More will come, and I'll grab for the nearest match. But I hope what I've learned will stop me from setting fire to the bridge. I must weigh what's essential in the long run: temporary pain or a publishing relationship based on obedience to God's Word. Doing this, I can walk—and write—worthy of my calling (Ephesians 4:1).