Rejection: anything but the truth

“It isn’t you, it’s me.”

Many years ago my scriptwriting agent gave me the sack.

He called me into his office and sat me down and explained that since his colleague, who handled the younger and more inexperienced writers (of which I was one) was leaving to set up on his own, he didn’t think he could act as my agent any more. He and his remaining partner handled some top-name writers and spent most of their time negotiating million dollar deals, leaving them with little time to actively go out and seek work for their newer writers. I’m not saying I left his office on a high exactly, but it was handled so well, with such respect and honesty, that I did not feel in the least downhearted. He could so easily – as others have since – just sent me a note, or left a phone message (this being before the days of emails).

I’ve received many rejections since then and none of them were conducted so straightfowardly. I’ve had some strange reasons given too, as I’m sure many writers have. A couple I received lately left me a tad puzzled: a bookshop turned me down for a reading because my book had a prologue; and a cancer charity turned down my offer to write a book as a fundraiser because of building works. In the case of the latter I didn’t want to embarrass both of us by pointing out that whatever work it involved (a lot) was mine, not theirs, as they clearly didn’t like my proposal. Fair enough, but why not give me the real reason?

I have sympathy for people whose job it is to give bad news. Debt collectors, doctors, policemen, bailiffs, literary agents, publishers, the list is endless. (I’ve experienced bailiffs myself, twice. The first one looked sorrowful, and was exceedingly polite in a regretful kind of a way. The second smirked his way round my living room as he sized up the value of my furniture and I could have kicked him in the shins. Or elsewhere.) My point is: rejection is a part of everyone’s life, so why do people find it so difficult to tell the truth? Perhaps I’m guilty of it myself, if so unwittingly. It’s not a case of being soft, or even sympathetic, it’s a case of being honest.

“It’s isn’t me, it’s you, actually.”

I’d be fascinated to hear stories of other people’s rejections, and the reasons for them – the weirder the better.