As the ra_log approaches its first birthday, I find myself thinking more and more about rejections and the ensuing art of rejectomancy. Personally, I spend a good deal of time pursuing the higher art of prognostojection*, which allows me to see a great deal of rejectomancy in practice.

Rejectomancy is, for those who don't know, the art of reading between the lines of a rejection to see into the soul (assuming they have one**) of the editor, slush reader, or agent who rejected your masterwork. I'm certain some writers light some incense and slaughter a goat to do this, but I prefer the much less messy method of staring at the screen (or actual piece of paper) to gain this insight.

So early into the writing career, November 2005, when I got my first rejection, I didn't know any better.

It was on yellow paper. With a handwritten note. (If you know what that phrase implies, gentle reader, that suggests that you've at least dabbled in the art.) One of the other dragons in my writing group promptly asked what color, and what it said, and what was written on it....opening a door to me where a whole new world of mysteries awaited. Is it "didn't grab" or "didn't hold"? Yellow or blue? Who signed it? Is there a handwritten note? How long did they have it? Did they invite me to send something else later? Did they?

All of these secret passphrases were bestowed on my by writers who knew more than me about this game. There are levels, I discovered:

0) (Yes, the zero level). No response
This could have one of many causes. Generally this is blamed on e-mail glitches or snail mail glitches. This tends to be a let-down when discovered, but generally the sense of irritation over whatever mistake engendered it outweighs any crushed feelings.

1) Form reject, no invite.
Ouch! The only rejectomancy possible here is to console oneself with the belief that the slush reader probably spilled hot coffee in his or her lap just before looking at your manuscript. (Slush readers can make mistakes like this. They are human.)

Suggested reaction? Do not resend the manuscript. Do not e-mail the editor and explain why your masterwork should be in their publication, and what they've missed out on. Move on.

2) Form reject, with invite.
A little better. Rejectomancy suggests that the slush reader might be having a bad week. But they don't hate you. They asked to see your next masterwork.
Suggested reaction? Same as #1. Write something new and send it in.

3) Personal rejection
This is one of the higher levels (although there are some markets who send personal to almost everyone.) A true practitioner knows which markets those are, and realize that a form from that market is....wow, almost the bottom. A personal rejection usually has some info about how to improve your story (that does not make it a re-write request) or why it didn't work for them. These are salve to the writer's soul, a bit of proof that the editor/reader feels for our struggles.
Suggested reaction? Same as #1, plus consider addressing the problems listed. And write something else.

4) Personal rejection with rewrite request.
This is the highest level of rejection. Newer practitioners often mistake other phrases for "I am willing to look at a re-write". (For example, the phrase "I would be interested in looked at other work of yours" is not a re-write request. That's an 'invite to send more'. Also "I think these problems can be easily addressed. Good luck with this one" is not a rewrite request either.
Suggested reaction? Give the editor's request serious consideration. They are telling you what they need your story to be like to fit into their magazine (not how to make it a perfect story). If you want to be in that magazine, give it a serious try. It's still a rejection, but the editor is leaving the door open.

One of the problem newer writers (and some veterans) often have is recognizing which one of the four they got. I sometimes see evidence of this on Duotrope, which makes me roll my eyes. But a writer can also make the mistake of blaring their lack of understanding aloud, such as a panellist at a con who said they'd gotten two awards from WOTF. (When asked by a member of the audience to clarify, they explained that they'd gotten a semi-finalist and an honorable mention.) This was greeted by the sound of crickets chirping and uncomfortable shifting in chairs. Rejectomancy Fail. One truly must learn to read the lines properly before advertising.

My advice to them would be to keep their ears open. People do talk about these things, thereby elucidating the meaning of the various phrases. That's how I learned. Also, hook up with a writing group with a few more experienced writers who've collected enough of these to know what the different rejections mean.

However, my mathematical side reminds me that this is not calculus. We're not trying to get close, we're trying to get a contract. So why even pursue the art? Because we are creatures who get by on hope. Moving up from rejection 3 to rejection 4 is a huuuuuge step forward, and as we approach it, our hearts begin to sing again. Yeah, the next rejection slaps us back down, but for a moment, it's all good.

There's a wonderful (and poetical) article in A&A that covers this topic, written by Wendy Delmater, aka safewrite.

If you know any other good rejectomancy resource, put it in comments and I'll link it here.

*Will discuss tomorrow
**So far, every editor I have worked with appears to be souled. I hear rumors that they're out there, the soulless ones, but so far I've been fortunate.