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Recently, searching through boxes containing ancient paperwork, I found the manuscript of my very first novel! Unsurprisingly, it was also my first book to be rejected.

Though this was ages ago – we’re talking late 90s – I still remember plenty of things about that experience. Perhaps some factual details are a bit different (memory is a tricky thing when it comes to that), but I certainly remember the “how it felt” part very well. In any case, I certainly don’t intend to read such a super-cringe old thing.

So join me in this hilarious trip of recollection, where the road to literary hell was paved with good intentions, and let’s make fun of my naïveté!

Some (sorta) Factual Details of a Book Rightfully Rejected

There are things I remember and things I don’t when it comes to the factual side of things. Of the things I remember, some I remember reasonably well, others not at all.

Interestingly, I remember the factual details surrounding the rejection more clearly than the book itself. This isn’t very surprising; the novel itself was ludicrous. On the other hand, the emotional aftershocks of your first book being rejected stay with you – indeed, thankfully.

With this in mind, I remember the book was some sort of supernatural fantasy, though not in a genre-consistent way. That is to say, you just couldn’t categorize it together with other books. As a stupid young writer, back then I thought plot was all that mattered. This led me to write a meandering, cliffhanger-in-every-chapter sort of narrative, where things just happened to characters rather than because of them.

From the little I remember, the novel mixed government conspiracies, global wars, supernatural entities, other dimensions, you name it! I don’t even remember how it ended and overall much of how it progressed.

But I remember how I felt about it back then – and let’s laugh freely at my youthful ignorance: I felt it was immensely original, unlike anything I’d ever read, guaranteed to be coveted by literary agents and publishers.

Book Rejected? Impossible!

Here’s a funny little detail: My book was rejected three times. And I don’t mean that three publishers separately rejected it. Rather, that my book was rejected in three different processes.

Allow me to explain the hilarious details.

Rejection 1

A family friend who heard I had written a book, offered to have one of his friends, who was a literary critic, to take a look at my manuscript and tell me his opinion. I eagerly accepted, and I recall thinking – though I have no idea why I did – this would help me get my foot in the proverbial door of the writing industry.

What actually happened was that I got a virtual kick in the proverbials.

I remember having agreed with that critic that I’d give him a call on a particular day, at a particular time. Remember, we’re in late 90s – many people still didn’t use email. I decided to call from a payphone, and I chose one by the beach – I have no idea why.

I called, and I recall feeling a sense of intense disbelief as the man – politely but unable to camouflage his patronizing tone – slaughtered my book. Obviously, he couldn’t do anything else; it was shit. Still, I lost the ground beneath my feet. In the end, he told me I should keep trying, and we ended the call.

Rejection 2

I don’t recall how exactly or how long it took (probably weeks, at most), but I went through a process of self-deception to avoid the associated cognitive dissonance. I mean, this was the bestest (sic) book ever written, right? Right?

So I remember eventually dismissing the critic, coming up with all sorts of fanciful excuses confirming my thinking the book shouldn’t have been rejected so easily. I typed another manuscript – on a typewriter, I didn’t have a printer at that time! – with some very minor corrections, and picked a publisher I thought would absolutely love that book.

Off I went, old-school marching into the publisher’s offices, my manuscript under my armpit, asking to see the person responsible for submitting a novel. I’m not joking, none of these details is remotely exaggerated.

They sent me to an office, where two old guys were sipping coffee, chatting and laughing. Nervous but determined to fake-it-till-I-make-it, I explained the situation. One of them took the manuscript and was immediately taken aback realizing I’d used a typewriter.

“Do you think we can scan it?” he asked the other guy, who didn’t even bother seeing it before shaking his head.

Rejection #2.

Trifecta of Rejection

The problem was, the book hadn’t been rejected officially. So off I went again, bought a printer, typed the book again, this time on the computer, and printed it. A third time I marched into the publisher’s, asking to see the same person I’d seen a few weeks earlier.

This time, the secretary didn’t allow me to simply walk in there. She just asked me to fill out a submission form which she then put into a folder together with the manuscript. She put the folder into a drawer, thanked me, and said they’d let me know.

The suspense was killing me for the (mercifully) only two weeks it took them to politely call and say it’s not for them. That they even bothered to call is surprising, frankly. Different times…

What Followed my First Book’s Rejection

I don’t recall how long it took me to write again, but eventually I did. Now I had a printer, so I gave up on the typewriter and began using the computer. I submitted one more book as a physical manuscript (also rejected), then the next one I submitted online (ditto). This was in early 2002.

Soon later, in late 2002, I moved to Finland and my life situation changed drastically. I did begin writing a new book which would end up being the first and last book I’d publish traditionally.

The rest is, as they say, history. I became so disgusted by the very thing I wanted, that I didn’t write fiction for many years. I did study literature at the university, however, all the way to a doctoral degree. Somewhere along the way, I began writing fiction again.

Having a book rejected isn’t the end of the world. Failure comes in many hues, and the only way to become better is to first see what doesn’t work. It’s annoying, frustrating, and soul-crushing, but – what can I say – life is necessarily flawed.