Bitter with a touch of sweet

It's the Three Weeks. For those in the know, this period (from the 17 of Tammuz through the 9th of Av) are historically the three saddest, most unlucky, dreadful weeks for the Jewish people. Both Temples destroyed. Declaration of the First Crusade. The Jews expelled from England. The beginning of the Spanish Inquisition. The deportation of the Jews of the Warsaw Ghetto to Treblinka. Bad, bad stuff.

My bad stuff does not compete. But of course, this had to be the week when I received a rejection letter from the first publisher I sent my novel to. In the end, it might not be bad news (maybe it's sub-par, maybe the next publisher I send it to would be a better match...), but it feels like it right now. I'm not really down in the dumps--probably because of the 5 month delay--but it's still a disappointment.

On the other hand, it's tempered by some great news. I IY"H expect to have a short story in Binah BeTween this week, with a few other pieces placed for publication soon. As soon as they reach newstands, I'll let everyone know.

So little time, so many books to write...

I've been busy recently with editing projects, creating a new website (for family campers), and dealing with the general craziness in the Klempner family. That means that I haven't been doing my own writing very much in the last month. I sat down today to revise something I worked on a couple of weeks ago in my writers' critique group, and it felt divine. Ahhhh...

Another thing that kept me busy for the past month was an author visit. I read A Dozen Daisies for Raizy just in time for Shavuot & we did a great art project with the students (here are a couple more Raizy tie-in project suggestions...1&2). As usual, the kids wanted to know if there were any more books written about Raizy. I had to explain (again) that in fact I've written two sequels, one of which has never been published, the other of which was revised with a different central character and longer format, then published as a short story in Mishpacha Jr. 

I miss Raizy. But rejection letters have demoralized me. I haven't even tried to write a sequel for quite a while. I'm planning to write another novel this summer, but I think I'll also try my hand (again) at a follow-up to Raizy. 

I've already started brainstorming and scribbling away in my little notebook.

How to Cope with Rejection When Your Colleagues are Coping with Success

“Expect rejection.”

     That’s what I was told as I entered the field of the professional writer. Sure enough, the vast majority of us do experience it—and in varied and often humiliating forms--and I was not exempt. I no longer sulk for days if I receive a rejection later (although it might cast a fog of discontent over an hour or two). The more mature of us move beyond tolerating rejection and even learn to appreciate it, and maybe someday I'll reach that stage. Recently, however, I discovered a facet of the rejection experience that has been less commonly addressed, but needs some attention.

    In the space of a few days, two of my colleagues received contracts for their first books. These are two hard-working artists with talent and skill, who worked very hard to reach this point. I’d shared all the ups-and-downs of these particular manuscripts, so each phoned with their good news soon after they received it.

Meanwhile, I’d been tapping away endlessly on my first novel. I had come to a point where I feared it was unpublishable. What made it worse was that I’d been so preoccupied with writing that novel, I’d sent out far fewer pieces of writing than usual. Not one submission had resulted in a sale. I’d been feeling stuck and frustrated that week when my friends phoned with their exciting book deal news.

     In this situation, I had to make a decision.

     I could have hung up the phone and sneered, “But his book isn’t any better than mine!” or “Why is it always someone else?” I could have given the cold shoulder to my recently-successful friends. But the pleasure would be tiny, and it would be brief. Worse, it could cause the loss of a collaborator, colleague, or friend.

     But there was another choice. It’s best described by one (Yiddish) word: farginen.

     To fargin is the opposite of schadenfreude. Whereas the sufferer of schadenfreude delights in the misfortune of others, the person who fargins another delights in their good fortune.

     There is a tendency in artists of all kinds—writers are not exempt—to experience envy, envy in a deeply unattractive shade of green. Somehow, someone else’s success feels like it has prevented your own. Or maybe you believe your work is more deserving than your friend’s.

     You hear about “fair weather friends,” but some people are “foul weather friends.” There are individuals who like having other people around only when they can feel equal or even superior to them. They feel life is a competition, and they always want to be the one on top.  Taking pleasure in someone else’s successes and good fortune, regardless of your own state of being, is just as much of an expression of unconditional love as is sticking it out with a friend in need.

     To be fargin isn’t always a spontaneous emotion. In most people, it requires practice. You remind yourself that your friend’s success doesn’t prevent your own. You cheer for your friend. You spread the word about their new project. You buy the book as a gift for other friends. You let their success remind you that yours is possible at a future date. After all, G-d can hand out as many book deals (or sales or whatever) as there are people, all at the right time. 

     The more you practice this spiritual muscle, the stronger it will become.


(Update: I wrote the original draft of this piece a couple months ago. Don't worry--I got some writing/coaching gigs after the dry spell.)