Between Pen and Paper: Flaneuring Through a Writer’s Mind – The Many Flavors of “No”

By Andi Kopek

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I don’t think I’m spilling the beans when I say that a big chunk of a writer’s life is spent being told we’re not the flavor of the day. Rejection isn’t a side dish—it’s the main course of the creative life.

I’ve recently received several rejections on various projects I’m working on—I felt like I’d wandered into a Sunday all-you-can-weep brunch buffet. If misery were my main dish, this would’ve been the most generous buffet ever.

There was a bottomless mimosa of “unfortunately this doesn’t fit our needs,” a half-baked quiche of “not this time,” and a towering rejection waffle bar where every topping was a different shade of “we encourage you to submit again.” And then came a note from the chef: “Your novel is just a word salad.” The cheese cream of encouragement on the expired self-esteem toast was, unfortunately, spread too thin.

Then, it shouldn’t be a surprise, that tears accumulated so rapidly, they flooded not only my eyes but also my throat. Rejection can make it impossible to swallow anything but self-doubt—and even that could become a choking hazard.

What’s the Heimlich maneuver for staying alive through it all? Luckily, the literary survival menu offers a few options:

1. Reframe the Narrative

Rejection, while never pleasant, is best viewed as data for you, not a judgment of you. Most often, it reflects a question of fit rather than a verdict on your worth as a writer or the value of your work. Even the most celebrated authors—those whose names now grace syllabi and prize lists: Toni Morrison, Stephen King, Ursula K. Le Guin, Sylvia Plath, Vladimir Nabokov, William Faulkner, J. K. Rowling, George Orwell, James Baldwin, Octavia Butler, Agatha Christie—were once on the receiving end of countless polite (and impolite) declines: We are sorry, but we are closed. Please come back later. It is important to accept that rejection is not an exception to the writer’s path; it is the path.

2. Improve the Craft

Once you realize that rejection is inevitable, try to use it to your advantage. Rejection can be a golden (or at least charred) opportunity to return to your work with fresh eyes. As a once-famous chef said, moments after his kitchen caught fire while flambéing crêpes Suzette: “There’s always room for improvement.” So go to that room—and improve. Better yet, invite a few trusted friends or mentors to join you. Constructive criticism can serve as sturdy scaffolding for a kitchen renovation worth writing about. Because sometimes, all a story needs is a little open- window feedback and the removal of one very flammable sentence.

3. Refocus on Purpose

If, nevertheless, rejection starts to sting too deeply, like a pinch of salt in a fresh wound, it helps to put back on the counter the most fundamental, basic ingredient—why you began writing in the first place. Hopefully not for applause, algorithms, or acceptance letters—but for truth, for self- expression, for insight, and for the chance to spark change. To make this world a better place. So, at this instance, step away from the publishing hustle, even for a brief moment, and return to writing for yourself. The quiet joy of creation, free from outcome, is still the most reliable form of literary survival. Go back to your kitchen, take a piece of sourdough bread, spread in slow, careful motions I-can’t-believe-it’s-real-butter on it, put slices of your favorite ingredients on top, bring it all to a wooden rocker on your porch, and listen to birds while reflecting on your rejected existence.

4. Protect Your Mental Health

While rocking on the porch, allow yourself to feel the disappointment, as it is a natural response. However, don’t let it spiral into endless rumination. Set emotional boundaries around the sting. Resist the urge to compare your journey to others, especially in the curated chaos of social media. We have a tendency to compare ourselves to others who we think did “better” in our minds. If you have to compare yourself to others, choose someone who did “worse.” But truly, the best thing is not to compare yourself to other oranges. Remember, you are the Golden Delicious! Sometimes the best way to move forward is to stop, eat a dessert, breathe, eat a dessert, and listen to what your writing self needs next. And eat the dessert.

5. Build a Support System

Once you’re full, connect with a writing group or creative community—people who understand that rejection isn’t taboo, but a shared rite of passage. Talk about it openly. Naming the “no” out loud helps to normalize it, to strip it of its sting and secrecy. And don’t wait for a publication to throw a party—celebrate the small wins with others: the finished draft, the brave submission, the day you kept writing despite the doubt. But you know what? Why not celebrate rejection? Post: Dear friends! This Sunday, a potluck at my place. Bring comfort food. Don’t forget napkins and handkerchiefs. We will eat and cry. A lot. Together.

6. Have Fun

Once you gather your friends, your support buddies, have some fun. One amazing and surprisingly cathartic way to reclaim rejection is through blackout poetry—taking a rejection letter and redacting it until only a strange, accidental poem remains. Suddenly, “We regret to inform you” becomes the opening line of a noir love story. You can also gather your favorite rejections into a DIY zine: decorate it, title it something defiant like “Thanks, But No Thanks,” and share it with fellow potluckers. You can also cut the letter (which by itself can be therapeutic) into single words, half-sentences, and indecisive punctuation marks, then rearrange them along with your friends Burroughs-style—giving the scraps new meaning, new logic, and possibly the first interesting thing that letter ever produced.

Lastly, you can write a column about it.

Rejection will likely always be on the menu, but it doesn’t have to be the last course. You can chew it slowly, spit it out, or flambé it into something oddly nourishing. The truth is, if you’re getting rejected, it means you’re in the game. You’re sending your strange little soufflés into the world, hoping one of them lands in the right oven and rises just right, filling the room with the unmistakable aroma of something worth savoring. And that, in itself, is worthy of celebration. So pass the mimosa, taste the quiche, and keep having fun writing. Even if you’re not the flavor of the day, you’re still cooking.

Bon appétit, fellow word-chefs.

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Andi Kopek is a multidisciplinary artist based in Nashville, TN. With a background in medicine, molecular neuroscience, and behavioral change, he has recently devoted himself entirely to the creative arts. His debut poetry collection, Shmehara, has garnered accolades in both literary and independent film circles for its innovative storytelling.

When you’re in Nashville, you can join Andi at his monthly poetry workshop, participate in the Libri Prohibiti book club (both held monthly at the Spine bookstore, Smyrna, TN), or catch one of his live performances. When not engaging with the community, he's hard at work on his next creative project or preparing for his monthly art-focused podcast, The Samovar(t) Lounge: Steeping Conversations with Creative Minds, where in a relaxed space, invited artists share tea and the never-told intricacies of their creative journeys.