Rejection is something that writers are intimately familiar with. Whether from contests, the slush pile, or elsewhere, we’ve come to accept it as a right of passage; the price of a ticket to walk the path to publishing.

Even so, rejection is a bitter pill to swallow over and over again. That’s why writers must learn to compartmentalize that rejection. We must confine it to a place where it won’t haunt us every second of every day. This is a difficult task, but one that makes the process of write, revise, submit more bearable; because we know the eventual outcome.

Then, there are comments like the title of this post.

I went out to lunch a little over a month ago with a few colleagues at my new job, and this exchange occurred (not direct quotes):

Colleague: So, Chase, what do you do for fun?

Me: I play video games and write.

Colleague: You write? What kind of stuff?

Me: I write video game articles for imperium.news and science fiction novels.

Colleague: That’s cool. Have you gotten anything published yet?

Me: I’m still working on that.

Colleague: Oh. It’s just a hobby, then.

My response was something about the road to publication being a difficult one and that I was trying my best to make it happen, but that didn’t encompass a fraction of how I wanted to respond.

I’m sure it wasn’t what he intended, but I was hurt.

Professional rejection is something that I’ve learned to steel myself against. Occasionally, doubt will seep through the cracks and I’ll have a “crisis of faith”, but these moments are few and far between. Comments like this, however, serve as a sledgehammer that breaks down the walls of indifference writers have spent so much time building up.

I should have been able to ignore the comment, but I still think about it over a month later. It pops into my head at the most inopportune times and has made the month of May a difficult one to get through. With the stress of #Revpit, #WriteMentor, and #QueryKombat pressing in around me, this comment has served to amplify the all of the emotions surrounding these events.

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Even on the best of days, I ask myself why I write. Is it to create worlds? Tell stories? Get published?

Honestly, I worry about that last reason. I’d love to be a published author, but I don’t want that singular goal to drive why I write. Once my reason for doing it moves past because I love it, the joy of writing is diminished. And harder questions seep in through the cracks.

Why am I doing this? What’s the point? And others.

I am a very achievement oriented person, so I find it difficult to keep at something that doesn’t have a reward of some kind associated with it. But writing is one of the few things that is an achievement in its own right. There’s nothing quite like crafting a world, filling it with characters, then putting them through paces that no other person could imagine. I revel in the ability to create a narrative that’s thousands of words long. And I take pride in the fact that others can read these narratives and be enthralled by the story contained within.

But comments like the one above shatter that spell.

Anyone who has followed my blog long enough knows that I started writing as a form of catharsis. Crafting stories was the raft that kept me afloat in a stormy sea, but when all was said and done, I realized that I loved writing more than I ever could have imagined.

Writing is one of the few things that I consider to be a worthwhile sacrifice, and when I spend a night in my study writing, it is a sacrifice. Time buried in hand-crafted worlds means time away from friends, family, and other responsibilities. It is a decision that I don’t take lightly. And I appreciate that those in my life allow me this indulgence. It makes the task that much more significant.

At the same time, I always doubt whether what I’m doing is worthwhile. Is my writing good? Are the stories I craft worth reading? Will I ever be good enough to get published? Is writing stories that won’t ever be read worth the time I spend on them? Why bother?

Like rejection, niggling doubt is something that I’ve managed to compartmentalize. I understand that these kinds of thoughts come with the territory, so I take time to manage them the best I can. And I get by.

But when something like this happens, it ruins the balance I’ve managed to cultivate for months. And this particular instance happened at the worst possible moment – as I was submitting work to contests and preparing a round of queries for 2018.

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In times like these, I find myself spiraling into a well of doubt, and though it can take a while, I always manage to recover. But in the meantime, I find myself making comments that turn out to be self-deprecating. I don’t realize this at first, but reading back social media can be a real cringe-fest at times.

If I’m experiencing this, it stands to reason that others are as well. We writers take our craft very seriously, and it’s a difficult thing to hear others dismiss it so easily. That’s a form of rejection that’s overwhelmingly personal, and it’s a blade that sinks to the core of a writer’s deepest doubts. When we write, we do it for ourselves, but also for the people we hope will eventually read, and love, our words. So, hearing such a dismissal from someone who could be a reader hits the hardest.

That’s why I work so damn hard to be the best writer I can be. That’s why both Aiko’s Dive and Infinity’s Heir have 11 versions. That’s why I’ve submitted both to contests. That’s why I agonize over the placement of every comma. And that’s why I won’t ever give up, no matter how many rejections I get.

Through submitting to #Revpit, #WriteMentor, and #QueryKombat, I’ve learned that community is the most important thing to a writer. I’ve met so many wonderful people and had so many wonderful interactions over the last month, that I’ve been able to forget many of the doubts this comment brought to the surface. Those doubts have been replaced by stress and anxiety, but also forward movement.

I’ve already learned so much, and I’m looking forward to learning so much more!

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And one last thing before I leave you (and this may sound like sappy crapola, but stick with me)…

Everyone is passionate about something. Whether it’s music, or writing, or art, or cooking, or something else, there is an activity that defines the essence of who a person is. There’s a very good chance that most of what someone else is interested in won’t fill you with the same fire (I’ve come to realize that, for most people, writing is the most mundane task imaginable). And it’s likely that they’ll tell you about it at some point. That you don’t find the subject fascinating is okay, but there’s nothing wrong with trying to share that person’s enthusiasm, or granting them the ability to be enthused about it.

So, the next time someone shares a piece of themselves with you, you don’t have to feign interest, or ask them to tell you the entire history of the activity, but it doesn’t hurt to be excited for them. Because, if I’ve learned anything, a simple “That’s awesome!” sounds so much better, and hurts so much less, than “Oh. It’s just a hobby, then.”.