If you’re a writer, there is one part of this industry that makes everyone want to rip their hair out: waiting months (or sometimes years!!) for agent or editorial feedback, only to get canned, soul-crushing, generic responses.
“I just didn’t fall in love with the voice.”
“I’m just not sure how to break this one out; for that reason, I’m going to step aside.”
“I’m afraid in the end I just didn’t have that extra special feeling this book so deserves.”
After bleeding onto the page, polishing every scene, and sending your work out into the void, hoping an editor or agent will actually read it, see your heart, and give you something—anything—constructive to work with…
You wait six months to get hit with those generic lines.
And it sucks. It feels like a slap in the face.
How are you supposed to know what to do or how to make the book better if all we get is a few measly lines?
The cool thing about being a writer is that WE CAN FIX THE PROBLEMS.
We can make the characters more interesting, change the ending, up the stakes. We just have to find that advocate who’s willing to help us shape the clay.
But how do we shape that clay if we never receive constructive feedback from the very people who will one day hold our careers in their hands?
A few weeks ago, something happened that took this whole thing from frustrating to completely surreal.
I have been out on submission for FIVE MONTHS for a book that I am so wild about, What Happens Next. Despite my enthusiasm and my agent’s enthusiasm, no one has taken a bite. YET. 🤞
Recently, I got a lovely rejection from an editor who said this:
Thank you so much for your patience while the team read and discussed Rea Frey's novel, WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. While we were really excited by this premise, we did find that it felt a bit too predictable and young for the fiction list we are trying to build. We are going to step aside on it, but we are big fans of Rea's writing and if she has anything else up her sleeve we'd love to be considered for it.
I scratched my head at this feedback. Predictable? This is a time travel book! And young??? My protagonist is in her late thirties! While I am open to feedback (always have been), these two pieces definitely didn’t land.
And my rule of thumb is: if feedback doesn’t resonate, ditch it. But if three or four or five people start to say the same thing, then it might be worth a look.
So, I shelved this feedback.
Then, a few weeks ago, I submitted one of my fiction clients to this same editor and she requested the full ms. About a week later, this is the rejection she got. (I am scrubbing her name and book to protect her privacy.)
Thanks so much for sharing XXXXX novel, XXXXXX. And we appreciate your patience as the team read and discussed. XXXX is such a lovely writer and you can tell how much fun she had writing this entertaining novel. While we were engaged, we unfortunately felt the voice was a bit too young for the type of novels we are currently seeking. We are going to pass on it, but we wish XXXX the best of luck finding a home for it elsewhere. Thank you again for allowing us the opportunity to read it!
Now, these are two entirely different books. Different genres, different storylines, and completely different voices.
And yet, they both had similar, specific feedback.
Which begs the question: Are editors reading with a fine-tooth comb anymore? Are they feeding manuscripts through AI to spit out a quick summary, or are they just sitting on a master Word doc of copy-pasted rejection templates?
(Honestly, at this point, does it even matter which one it is?)
As I’ve learned over the years, agents (and editors) do not have time to become your writing coaches.
They are drowning in queries, overworked, underpaid, and trying to manage impossible workloads. A canned rejection just comes with the territory. It’s designed to close the door as fast and politely as possible so you don’t write back asking questions, like, JUST TELL ME WHAT I NEED TO DO SO YOU WILL BUY THIS DAMN BOOK!!!!!
The problem is that writers take these form rejections to heart.
If I had taken that rejection to heart, for instance, I might have tried to make my characters seem “older” or the voice different. Or added some sensational plot line so it didn’t feel predictable. But deep down, that feedback did not resonate for this book at all, so I’m not taking it. (And now, I’m wondering if it was even specialized to my book, or if it’s just something they say to all authors they reject?)
For other feedback, you might read a copy-pasted “the pacing felt off” note, panic, and completely gut your second act. Is that the right choice or not???
And how the hell are we supposed to grow as writers if the feedback loop is the same?
We have to learn how to translate corporate rejection code into actual, practical craft mechanics.
When an agent or editor hits you with a canned response, here is usually what’s actually happening under the hood:
When they say: “I couldn’t connect with the character.”
What it usually means: Your character’s core desire or stakes aren’t clear enough in the first 20 pages.
How to fix it: Stop tweaking the voice. Go back to page one. What does your protagonist desperately want right away? What is standing in their way? If the reader doesn’t know what’s at risk immediately, they disconnect.
When they say: “The pacing slowed down.”
What it usually means: You took too long to get to the main conflict, or your middle scenes lack internal tension.
How to fix it: Look at every single scene in Act Two. Does it either reveal something crucial about the character OR move the plot forward? If it’s just standing around delivering backstory or mood, cut it or combine it with more active scenes to move the plot forward.
When they say: “The market is too crowded… I have too many similar titles on my list.”
What it usually means: Your hook isn’t sharp enough or high concept enough for them to pitch to their marketing team in a two-sentence email.
How to fix it: The book itself might be fine, but your elevator pitch lacks punch. Sharpen your premise until it’s so crystal clear and intriguing that people can’t look away.
If you want to survive this industry without losing your mind (or your passion for writing), you have to change the way you look at rejection.
I know, after a dozen books and numerous highs and lows, I’ve had to reframe my relationship with it entirely. Now, I brush it off because it truly is the biggest part of this industry. While that doesn’t make it easier, it does make it manageable when it comes to learning how to take those form rejections and make your book better.
Never rewrite based on a single form rejection. A single pass really doesn’t mean much. Do not change your manuscript because one person sent you a form rejection.
Look for macro-patterns, not individual notes. If you send out 20 queries and get 20 immediate passes on your sample pages with similar notes about character or plot, then those might be issues to look at.
Get real feedback from real people. Stop relying on acquisitions staff to teach you how to write. Build a trusted circle of critique partners before you pitch, hire an editor who actually has skin in the game, or work with a coach who will give you real, raw, honest feedback before you pitch. (I’m here for this very reason!!)
A canned rejection is almost never a reflection of your talent or your potential. It’s instead a reflection on a very saturated market with a highly flawed feedback system.
Don’t let a copy-pasted auto-reply make you feel like a failure. They gave you a form rejection because they simply didn’t have the time to offer anything else.
But you have the time. Go back to the page and make the work so good it’s impossible to ignore.
Tell me: Have you ever gotten a rejection that felt totally copy-pasted? How do you handle form passes without letting them derail your writing?
Would love to hear from you.
Rea
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