Twenty Years of Writing: The Stats by Caroline Starr Rose

See this? It's a rejection from my editor Stacey, written in 2008! She didn't buy a book from me until 2013.

I first started writing the summer of 1998. Back then, I was a teacher on break with three months stretching before me. After years of dreaming, I decided it was finally time to dig in and try to write a book.

For eleven years I wrote, submitting my four novels and six picture books almost exclusively to editors.* This was back in the snail mail querying age. Remember the anticipation you experienced as a child waiting for birthday presents to arrive in the mail? That was me for about a decade.

In spring 2009, I won a contest at a local writing conference. At the last minute, I’d decided to send in my middle-grade historical novel-in-verse. It was my best work, but I wasn’t sure how it would be received alongside pieces meant for the adult market.**  My prize included a one-on-one with an editor who specialized in fantasy, sci-fi, and women’s fiction, a world apart from my writing. She took one look at my manuscript and asked, “Why don’t you have an agent yet?”

Part of my very high-tech submission records and some artwork from my son.

That’s when I started subbing to agents in earnest, sending three to five queries at a time. By May, I'd gotten my first full request. In June I got two more. In July another two. In September, yet another two.

By October, I’d had ten agents request fulls and two ask for partials. One agent liked my story, but felt some significant changes were necessary. I thought through her suggestions but took things in another direction, coming up with an entirely new, stronger ending. In the days I spent revising, two more agents requested fulls, bringing my total to twelve. I contacted the first agent, telling her I’d made changes to the story, though not along the lines she’d suggested. If she was still interested, I told her, I’d be happy to send it, but I also wanted her to know two more agents were reading the newer version. She graciously told me she’d love to see the story if the other two agents passed. One did. One didn’t.

Writing stats from 1998 to 2010, when I signed with my first agent:

10 manuscripts (4 novels, 6 picture books)
211 rejections from editors (2 fulls and 1 partial requested)
12 contests/grants (1 win)
75 rejections from agents (12 fulls and 2 partials requested)

With my first agent I sold two books, May B. (novel #4, which subbed to eleven editors and had 3 offers. It  was orphaned when Random House closed Tricycle Press.  The book was days from its ARC printing. Six weeks later, it was picked up by another Random House imprint, Schwartz and Wade, and went through three more rounds of edits), and Over in the Wetlands (picture book #5, which sold to Schwartz and Wade with zero rejections). After reworking several manuscripts, I officially retired most of them and drafted my verse novel, Blue Birds.

In 2013, I was on the hunt again for an agent. I submitted to three agencies and got two offers. I've been with Tracey Adams of Adams Literary ever since.

Writing stats for the last five years:

7.5 manuscripts (1.5 novels, 6 picture books -- 3 of these manuscripts have been officially retired)
5 sales (3 novels, 2 picture books...the second picture book I hope to be able announce soon-ish!)
2 anthology pieces, including an overhauled chapter from novel #2...the one Stacey rejected in 2008!
3 grants / 2 contests (with no wins)
55 rejections

Some thoughts

You could look at these numbers and get pretty discouraged. 14 years to see a book on the shelf? Regular rejection with 7 books sold? I can look at these numbers -- even knowing things worked out in the end -- and feel the same. I know plenty of people with a shorter apprenticeship. I've got lots of friends far more prolific. All sorts of authors I debuted with in 2012 have published far more than I have. Here's the thing: Your process is yours. Your journey is yours. Each book finds its way on its own.

Two truths kept me going before I sold my first book (and aren't bad to remember now):

• I have something unique to say (even when I'm not sure what that is).
• My work can only improve if I keep at it.

Rejection continues to be a part of the process. That's just how it goes.

The writing life (and the publication process) is a long-road, long-view, long-term journey. There's no other way to look at it.

So, my friends, if you are on this journey, too, take heart. There is no right way. There's no quick fix. There is no easy road. There is a fair dose of frustration and disappointment. But there is joy and satisfaction, too.

Here's to all the good work ahead. Here's to the next twenty years.



*Because an agent isn’t a necessity in the children's market (but is a REALLY GOOD IDEA), I figured submitting to an agent was an extra, unnecessary step. Perhaps not my smartest move, but it also was not detrimental, as my writing wasn't yet ready for a sale or representation. These were my apprenticeship years.

**I also wasn't sure if anyone would understand what I was trying to do with this verse thing. A few months before I had submitted the first ten pages to an editor at a children's conference. She clearly was unfamiliar with the form and thought it was a rather mature picture book that was missing its ending!

Doing It for the Kids by Linda Williams Jackson

I live with marathon runners. As a result, I get to witness the grueling task of training for and successfully finishing a race. I also know, without a doubt, that a marathon is something that I will NEVER complete. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why anyone would want to run for 26.2 miles, especially when they have to spend months in advance of the race, training for it by going on long runs up to 20+ miles. That’s like running a marathon multiple times before you actually run the real deal. Yet, every year, thousands of people run these races. My husband and daughter are two of those people.

During this last marathon, as I waited at the finish line, I actually began to get a little angry at some of the runners. Many of them were limping more than they were running, and some were even crying. Yes, literal tears! These were grown folks, not children, dragging themselves towards a finish line, knowing that they probably wouldn’t be able to even walk the next day.

“Why in the world are they doing this?” I asked myself. “Why are they torturing themselves like this? Surely running a marathon is not that important.”

When my husband and daughter crossed the finish line, I asked them the same question regarding the “criers.” They both stared at me as if I had suddenly turned green.

“They’re doing it for the kids, Mom,” my daughter said. “We’re all doing it for the kids. Yeah, it’s hard. I even cried a little toward the end, but this is for the kids at Saint Jude’s.”

“Didn’t you see the wrist bands?” my husband asked. “Some people are running for specific kids.”

“We ran for Zoey,” my daughter added. “At first we were just running because we wanted to run the marathon, but then we thought about Zoey and ran it for her.”

Not only did I feel remorseful regarding my attitude towards the runners, but I also had a lightbulb moment. I thought about all those years I spent writing and pursuing traditional publishing. I thought about all the sacrifices I made, all the tears I shed. I thought about my figurative limping toward the finish line. I also thought about how, when I first started on this race, I did it because I wanted to be a published author. Yet, once I really got deeper into my journey, I began doing it for the kids. Now, more than ever, I do it for the kids. If it were simply up to me and the pursuit of a dream, I would walk away. I would no longer put myself through this “marathon” training of trying to publish a book.

But I can’t quit. I must finish the race because I know that there are stories in me that I need to share with kids—kids who, metaphorically, like the kids at Saint Jude Children’s Research Hospital, need hope and healing. 

What about you? Why are YOU doing this? Why are you continuing to run the race of children's book publishing?

A Conversation with Rejection by Linda Williams Jackson

Me: Hi, Rejection! Welcome to Project Middle Grade Mayhem! (I think….)

Rejection: Thanks, Linda! I’m VERY happy to be here. I’ve known many of you Mayhemmers for a long time. (Howdy, Caroline Starr Rose!) As a matter of fact, Linda, you and I go waaaay back.

Me: Hold up…. Let’s get something straight. Yes, we’ve known each other for a long time, since the early 1990’s, tbh. But that doesn’t mean we go way back. Going waaaay back, in my opinion, denotes a certain level of friendliness. And you, Mr. Rejection, are no friend of mine.

Rejection: Oh, touchy, aren’t you?

Me: You should know. You’ve made me cry a few times, haven’t you?

Rejection: A few times? Girl, please. I made you cry a whole lotta times.

Me: And now you’re bragging about it?!?!

Rejection: Not bragging. Just stating the facts. Here’s the deal, sweetheart. My job is to make people better, more specifically for the purpose of this conversation, to make you guys better writers.

Me (under my breath): Do you have to be so ruthless about it?

Rejection: I heard that. And the answer is yes. I can’t let you guys off easily. No pain, no gain, baby. I mean, would you have ever written Midnight Without a Moon if I had let you get that little funeral home story published?

Me: Hey, don’t make fun of my funeral home story. I love that story!

Rejection (under his breath): Obviously, you queried it for five and a half years.

Me: I heard that.

Rejection: Good! I’m glad you heard it. I hope you learned something from all that pain I put you through. Otherwise, my time has been wasted.

Me: Oh, I learned plenty. Thank you very much.

Rejection: Such as?

Me: Don’t get stuck on one project, no matter how much you love it. And regardless of how many agents have requested the full and provided positive feedback, or how many pitch contests the project has won, I should have been seriously writing more projects and querying them.

Rejection: But you did write more manuscripts. I remember doing my magic to make sure those were under my spell too. You didn’t get anywhere with them.

Me: I know. But I realized I had gotten to the point where I wanted an agent more than anything else in the world. My focus was all wrong. I was writing to get a “yes” instead of writing to tell a story that I felt like people needed to hear, or read, rather.

Rejection (smiling broadly): Awww. I feel like a proud papa. That’s exactly what I was hoping to accomplish by putting you through the wringer the way I did.

Me (rolling eyes)

Rejection: What else did you learn?

Me: Humility.

Rejection (clapping): Bravo! Another score for Rejection! I really know how to knock the pride out of you guys!

Me (under my breath): And the wind too.

Rejection (laughing): Sorry about that.

Me: Sure you are.

Rejection: Remember that time I made you break down and cry right in front of your computer? I mean, that rejection stung so hard that you hadn’t even finished reading the email before you started bawling.

Me: But, I survived.

Rejection: Yes, you did. You were a real trooper…simply unstoppable.

Me: Well, I don’t know about unstoppable. I think I was ready to quit. If you hadn’t stopped coming at me in 2015, I might have given up.

Rejection: Wait! What?!?! You mean I was THAT close to breaking you?

Me: Yep. You sure were.

Rejection (slaps forehead): Aw, man! One more year, huh?

Me: Yep. That’s what I was giving myself.

Rejection: You’re saying that now, Linda. But as I recall, you said that every year. “Just one more year. If I don’t make it this time, I’m quitting.”

Me (chuckling): I did say that, didn’t I?

Rejection: Yep. Every year. Actually, you said it after every full request, too. You said, “If this one isn’t ‘the one,’ then I’m done.” Then I’d show up. Then you’d cry. Then you’d go listen to some inspirational song or read some inspirational post. Then you’d be right back at it the next day.

Me: I was pretty stubborn, huh?

Rejection: No, honey. You were resilient. (Gestures around the Mayhem blog) You all were. I tried to break you guys, but you just kept going. You were all so determined.

Me: Why, Rejection? Why do you put people through all this? I know you said to make us better writers and to make us humble, but why make it so hard? Don’t you trust that we’ll improve our skills and appreciate our success without so much pain?

Rejection: You read The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch, right?

Me: I did.

Rejection: Remember what he said about brick walls?

Me (Googling): He said, “The brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough.”

Rejection (wiping tears from his eyes): I’m sorry I hurt you so badly, Linda. I’m sorry I hurt all you guys, Mayhemmers. But do you now understand why I did it? You guys wanted this badly enough to take everything that I threw at you. You were unstoppable. And I am very proud of you. But please know that my job is never completely done. You will still face rejection. But I know you will persevere. All of you, because you are winners.

Me: Thank you, Rejection, not just for being here with us at Project Middle Grade Mayhem today, but for being present with us during our writing journey. Thank you for showing up when we needed you even though we didn’t want you there. You were like a helicopter parent who knows what’s best for her kid even when the kid doesn’t realize it at the time. You made us better writers. And because you humbled us, we don’t mind helping others along the way. No offense, but you are both hated and loved at the same time.

Rejection: No offense taken, my dear. I’m just happy to do my job. Now I must leave you guys. I have some dreams to try to crush. Good bye.

Me: So long, Rejection. I’m not looking forward to seeing you again any time soon.

On Persistence and Plowing

I love to hear author's publication stories. Here's mine.

It was 2004. While driving to meet my writing group, I happened to catch an interview on NPR with Adrienne Young, a folksinger just starting out. She talked about her first album, inspired by some advice she’d gotten while struggling to make it as a musician:

If you want to do this with your life, stay focused and see this through. You’ve got to plow to the end of the row, girl.

That simple phrase – plow to the end of the row – was enough to push Adrienne to continue. It became the title of both her album and lead song.

I can’t quite explain what that interview meant to me, hearing an artist choose to create despite the struggle, to push against fear and sensibility and make it “to the end of the row.” I’ve carried this image with me for years, the plant metaphor standing in for artistic endeavor, the plow the unglamorous slog needed to dig deep and make it to the end.

Sometimes I find it funny I’d choose a profession so bent on forcing me to wait, so full of uncertainty and disappointment. An almost foolish optimism kept me working, trusting that the next editor or the next agent or the next story would be the one to launch my career. I’ve haunted mailboxes and inboxes, waiting for something positive to come through. I’ve ceremoniously sent off manuscripts, chanting, “Don’t come back!” (entertaining postal workers, for sure). I’ve journaled again and again “this next editor is a perfect match!”, managing somehow to keep on plowing in midst of little validation.

After twelve years of writing and hundreds of rejections, I sold my first book, May B., a historical verse novel about a girl with her own challenging row to hoe. May’s determination carried me through a rocky publication experience: losing my first editor; the closing of my Random House imprint, Tricycle Press; the weeks when my book was orphaned, with no publishing house to claim it and its future uncertain; the swooping in of Random House imprint, Schwartz and Wade; edit rounds six, seven, and eight with editor number two; and finally, May B.’s birth into the world this January, only three months behind its original release date.

Though each row’s length varies, they’re still mostly lonely, not very straight and loaded with stones. But the soil has gotten better as I’ve worked it, and each little sprout I’ve planted has been stronger than the last. And I keep at it -- plowing, planting, hoping, dreaming -- because I’m made for this. And knowing this is enough to continue, enough for my work to thrive.

Having a vision and digging in

When I finally got around to building a green house, I had a vision of where I wanted it. At the very back of my garden in the most inconvenient spot possible, the only access being by foot.

I had to tear down part of the fence and cut down a couple trees.

And, since my garden is on a hillside, and I didn’t want my green house sticking up into the sky, I decided to dig into the hillside. Digging a hole that’s almost three feet deep at the top end and 12 x 14 feet all around was way more of a project than I thought it’d be. It took me a couple of summers.



When I was done digging, I realized that I wanted a long narrow box on the south-facing wall to take advantage of the sun, so I dug some more.



Then I realized I wanted a flat spot in front of the green house so I dug some more.

I could have put my green house at the edge of my driveway in an already-cleared flat spot but I didn’t want it there because I didn’t think it would look good and it might get in the way. But it sure would’ve been easy, and fast.

In order to get my green house where I wanted it, where I envisioned it, I had to have a lot of patience and perseverance. And I had to be willing to put in the time, and to tear up things I’d already built.



I think this process can be applied to writing. You have a story idea and you have a vision, however vague or specific, of how that story will be told, of how your readers will experience it. Because really, that’s what it comes down to. It’s how you tell your story.

The easy way might not be the best. And you want the best.