Earlier this week, I posted on Instagram:
I was feeling pretty motivated after that “no,” to be honest. I was firmly in the “let’s get rejected today” mindset of using it as fuel to keep going, keep trying.
And then…
I got another rejection on a partial Tuesday.
The doubts crept in.
Cut to Tuesday afternoon and the UNC vs. FSU College World Series game. As I cheered for my beloved Tar Heels, I started thinking about how hard it is to hit the ball.
Did you know that when a ball leaves a pitcher’s hands at 90 mph, it arrives at home plate in one half to one third of a second later?
That’s the approximate time it takes to snap our fingers.
Bam.
Just like that. It’s a miracle a batter makes contact at all. The decision to swing or not is made in 500 milliseconds. The swing is based on the batter’s vision, reflexes, and power.
Skills built after taking a whole lot of batting practice, working on mechanics, and strength building.
Did you also know that a .300 batting average in the major leagues is considered excellent? That means a hitter is only hitting 3 out of every 10 at bats.
On paper (to this admitted statistical inexpert), that doesn’t sound like a great success rate until you think about how next to impossible hitting a 90+ mph fast ball is when it’s hurtling at you in one half of a second.
If the best of the best are only hitting the ball (that’s just a hit, not a run, not a home run, just a hit to get on base) only 3 out of 10 times, perhaps we can cut ourselves some slack when we aren’t getting an enthusiastic “yes” to every query.
Because the seven out of ten times they strike out or pop out or whatever, doesn’t make them any less successful as baseball players. It doesn’t mean they can’t hit.
Just like your no’s don’t define you as a writer.
As writers, we wait at the plate, our manuscript bat in hand. We may strike out (form rejection). We may make contact (partial request) but we hit a fly ball that the fielder easily catches (rejection). We may hit a ground ball that gets us running (full request) but we’re called out at second (another rejection, though we made it farther than ever before). And maybe, just maybe, we hit a home run (we get the call and the offer – cue the Gatorade bath!).
We all, baseball players and writers alike, need to keep working on our respective skills. We don’t stop learning or practicing or trying even when we swing and miss or we get a rejection.
Check out what Vance Honeycutt, arguably one of the best to play the game for the Heels, had to say about the advice he got from his dad (another Tar Heel baseball alum):
“The difference was that he always understood that the game is hard. He knows hitting is hard and if you fail seven out of ten times, you’re in the Hall of Fame. He instilled that into me at a young age.”
If you fail 7 out of 10 times you’re in the Hall of Fame.
Fitzgerald had 122 rejections.
Kate DiCamillo had 473 rejections.
Louisa May Alcott was told to stick to teaching.
Arguably all deserve to be in the writer’s Hall of Fame.
My Tar Heels were not victorious in their game Tuesday and have been eliminated from the tournament. But does that mean Vance Honeycutt, who is likely to go in the first or second round of the MLB draft, stops playing?
Not at all.
Because he’s a baseball player.
And you and I are writers.
So, if you need a pep talk this week like I do, here it is:
Keep swinging for the fences.
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Featured photo by Caleb Mullins on Unsplash