I got rejected... again. Why this one hurt and, and why it matters.
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This post was originally sent to my newsletter subscribers on August 7, 2025. Click here to subscribe.
My writing has been rejected more times than I care to remember.
Though the rejections don’t sting the way they used to—when I was a newbie author with the thinnest of skins—I got one a few weeks ago that left me with a simmering disquietude that I just can’t seem to shake.
(Yes, I just use the word disquietude. I know it’s old fashioned, but after an embarrassing amount of time combing through my thesaurus, I couldn’t find a modern one that fit the mood.)
Anyway, this is the story of that rejection—why it upset me, and why it should concern you as well.
Let’s start at the beginning, three years ago when I’d just finished my first novel, Roses in Red Wax.
‘Roses’ is different from the vast majority of historical romance novels.
It dives deeply and unapologetically into the social ills of the industrial revolution. It doesn’t glorify the rich and ignore the poor… It was, in fact, my reaction to reading in the genre and liking what I read, but feeling that something was missing amidst all those balls and dashing dukes and fancy silk dresses.
I wanted a broader, more inclusive history, a history that acknowledged the evils of colonialism, the underlying movements for social change, the artists and the bohemians, the poor and their struggles for a better life.
I knew nothing about the publishing world back then, but I was convinced that the powers that be would embrace my unique, more inclusive take on historical romance. How could they not? And so I cheerfully set about querying agents and publishers, sending them the first ten pages of my book and asking if they’d be interested in publishing my work.
Over two-hundred queries and one-hundred-and-fifty rejections later, I was feeling much less cheerful.
The few agents who bothered to give me personalized feedback all told me that my writing was fantastic, it just “wasn’t what we’re looking for at this time.”
Looking back, it’s a wonder I didn’t give up.
My work was completely untested. I didn’t have any reviews, reader encouragement or close writer friends to keep me going.
But somehow, I did.
(I’m stubborn like that, I guess.)
All those rejections took their toll, though, and I began to re-think my path…
If the publishing world wouldn’t take a risk on my unique brand of historical romance, and I truly wanted to get my books out into the world, then maybe my only option would be to self-publish.
Initially, I hated the idea.
Self-publishing felt to me like an admission of failure—something a writer only resorts to if their work is so awful that no publisher will consider it.
And yet… a few of my favorite authors had self-published novels: KJ Charles, Joanna Chambers, Rose Lerner.
Desperate for advice, I emailed KJ Charles, a veteran of the publishing industry (she started out as an editor for Harlequin), and one of the most skilled writers in the genre. I was relatively certain my work wasn’t terrible, I told her, but no one would agree to publish me.
What should I do?
KJ, bless her, responded the very next day with a long and detailed message all about why I really should consider self-publishing.
Serendipitously, a few days later, I finally got the thing I’d been dreaming of… An offer from a publishing company.
It was a small, independent press, and at first I was over the moon.
Finally, someone wanted me!
Then, I read the contract, and started thinking—and feeling—what it would mean to sign it.
When an author signs with a publisher, they’re ceding all control of their manuscript, with caveats spelled out in each individual contract.
Big name authors usually get big advances and cushy contracts that allow them to retain some control. But for me—a debut author with no clout and no existing fan base, the contract I was offered was about as restrictive as they come, and it was non-negotiable.
The publisher would have the final say on editing decisions, cover design, pricing and marketing. They would decide if the book would go into Kindle Unlimited and only be available to Amazon users, or if it would be accessible to libraries and to readers on other platforms. They reserved the right to decide when the book would be published—whether that be months, or even years after I submitted the manuscript to them.
If I’d signed that contract, I would not have been able to sell my books directly on my own website, or put them on sale at a reduced price, or even give away free copies. I would not have gotten any kind of advance, only a small percentage of overall sales… Sales that were entirely up to the publisher to generate (or not.)
I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t. I’d put so much of my time and my heart into Roses in Red Wax (and by that time, my second book, Swept Into the Storm), that I just couldn't bring myself to give my work over so completely to strangers.
So my decision was made.
I took the plunge, and I decided to self-publish and become an independent author.
Since that time, I’ve learned that my efforts to secure a favorable publishing deal were doomed from the start.
The publishing industry at large has decided in recent years that historical romance is a dying genre—even for established authors, it’s getting increasingly difficult to sign deals.
To my knowledge, in the year that I was querying Roses in Red Wax, no debut historical romance authors were signed to contracts with any of the ‘Big 5’ publishing companies.
Zero.
(The Big 5 are Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Macmillan, Hachette, and Simon & Schuster. They own about 80% of the book market, and are rapidly gobbling up many of the independent presses that remain.)
It didn’t matter that my books were attempting to change the ‘dying’ genre and make it more relevant. As soon as they read the words ‘Historical Romance’, the vast, vast majority of agents and publishers simply stopped reading.
In the end, I couldn’t be happier with my decision to self-publish.
If I hadn’t—if I’d signed that contract, or just given up entirely, I would never have connected with you and all the other readers who have enjoyed my work. I would never have written the last two books in the Darnalay Castle Series. Roses in Red Wax and Swept Into the Storm would either be sitting in a desk drawer collecting dust, or sitting in Kindle Unlimited—just another book lost among millions.
By self-publishing, I’ve been able to bypass the gatekeepers and go directly to the people who really matter—the readers. I’ve been able to run ads, put books on sale, and take on the grueling, difficult work of finding readers who appreciate my work.
Fast forward to this summer, when for the second time I applied to be a participating author in the Wisconsin Book Festival—my hometown library’s sole avenue for connecting local authors with readers.
The first time I applied, two years ago, I was rejected; and though I've grown my readership since then, I was dubious that the festival would be interested in my work… The fiction they feature is almost all literary (not in one of the commercial genres of romance, thriller, fantasy, science fiction, or mystery.)
I wrote to the organizers and asked if they might consider my work as a self-published, historical romance author. Or if not in the festival, was there some other way I could become involved in the library as a local author?
The organizers wrote back assuring me that they are inclusive of all books and all genres and that I definitely should apply.
So I did, and I was cautiously hopeful.
I adore my public library, you see. I’m there all the time with my kids. The librarians are amazing. But at the same time, I’ve had no luck getting my books onto the shelves there. (All my inquiries have gone unanswered.) And of course, I’d been rejected by the festival before.
When the second rejection came a few weeks ago, it stung. It wasn’t just that it was a rejection, it was a form email—the exact same form email I’d gotten two years previous. No mention of my previous conversion with the organizers, or other ways I might become involved… It sounded all too familiar: Your work is great, just not what we’re looking for at this time.
I got curious.
They said they were open to all kinds of books, but were they really? Maybe it was that me, and my little books just weren’t popular enough… Maybe this rejection had nothing to do with my status as a self-published author, and everything to do with the amazing authors that were besting me.
So I went through all sixty-some books that had been featured in the previous year’s festival, and guess what?
Though self-published books make up a healthy (and growing) percentage of the overall book market, not ONE self-published author or book was included in last year’s festival.
There were a few books that seemed close to what one might call genre fiction, but nothing that fit squarely in those categories.
Only two small presses were represented, and the rest—the overwhelming majority of the fiction—were literary novels published by one of the Big 5 publishing houses.
So why was I rejected?
I can’t say for sure, but I can tell you that my books had as many good reviews and as high of ratings as many of the books at last year’s festival. Moreover, I’m local to the city, while many of the represented authors were not.
The biggest difference? I’m self published.
I suspect my library has the same preconceived notions that I did—that self-publishing automatically makes a work lesser, not deserving of the same consideration as a book from a Big 5 publisher.
That same day, the news broke that Steven Colbert, the late night talk show host and genius satirist had been canceled, not because of bad ratings, but because his comedy—his art—offended the political sensibilities of the mega-media-corporation he works for.
I know that’s tangential, but it’s connected.
Because here’s the thing: in an age when corporate decision-making is increasingly tied to politics (see what happened to Colbert) do we really want to trust the Big 5 publishing companies to be the gatekeepers of what we read?
Even if you don’t want to get into politics, do you really want an executive at a mega-corporation deciding which books you read? Which genres are “in” and which are “out”? Which authors are worth your time?
I don’t.
I’m thinking of starting an independent book festival in my hometown.
I’ll keep you posted. ♥️
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