100 Rejections Later: What Actually Happens When You Embrace 'No'

Like most people, I have a lot of experience with rejection.


When I was a kid, I moved a lot—and with that came the inevitable rebuffs from new groups of peers. As I got older, the “no’s” kept coming: from colleges, then graduate schools, then jobs. Even so, I persisted, stumbling and adjusting, always trying to find my footing.

During an engaging career in neuropsychology (and while raising three of four kids full time), I decided I needed a new challenge. I enrolled in the closest MFA program I could find. I write because I can’t help it—it’s an outlet and a compulsion. Now, in my MFA program in Creative Nonfiction, I’ve found a writing community I never knew I needed.

A friend suggested I start submitting my work for publication, and that I aim for 100 rejections in a year. That idea became a mission.

So… Why 100 Rejections?

The short answer? Math.

Most top-tier literary magazines have acceptance rates around 1%—sometimes even lower. Submitting 100 times doesn’t guarantee a “yes,” but it improves the odds. And even if those odds don’t work out, I’m still left with 100 attempts, 100 rounds of practice, 100 moments of showing up.

So far this year: 21 rejections. Zero acceptances.
And it’s only March.

What No One Tells You About Submitting Work.

Here’s something I didn’t know before I started: rejections come in tiers.

There are the form rejections—bland and copy-pasted, the kind that say nothing except “no, thanks.” Then there are the softened form rejections, which offer a slightly more generous “not this time” tone but still no substance.

But every once in a while, you hit a new level:

• A personal comment from an editor.

• A note that says, “We really liked this, but...”

• Or, the holy grail: an actual suggestion for revision—an invitation to try again.

These may still be rejections, but they feel different. They mean something’s working.

The Hardest Part? Not the Rejection.

It’s the space between rejection and resolve.


The part where you wonder if the “no” means you’re not good enough—or if it just means the piece wasn’t right for that editor, that day, at that journal. The mental gymnastics are exhausting.

Even so, I keep going. I remind myself: this is the writing life. Rejection isn’t a detour—it’s the road.

And hey, I’m learning to collect “no’s” like badges. Some are kind. Some are confusing. One was so close  I almost sent it to a friend for backup analysis. (I didn’t—but I probably should have.)

Still, I keep submitting. Because I want to get better. Because it’s the only way forward. And because I believe there’s something valuable in hearing “no,” again and again, and choosing to keep writing anyway.

What I'm Reading...

This month, I've been reading The Chronology of Water by Lidia Yuknavitch.


It’s a memoir about grief, survival, and transformation—told in language so physical, it leaves a mark. I posted a little more about why it cracked something open for me over on Instagram—come find me there if you want to talk books, writing, or beautiful, brutal sentences.

Your Turn!

Are you submitting and getting rejected all over the place, too?
Have you had a win recently—or a rejection that left a mark?
Drop your best (or worst) story in the comments. I’d love to hear how you’re navigating it.