I was rejected because…

I was rejected because I’m not Jodi Picoult.

I was rejected because I sound special but I’m not quite right for the list.

I was rejected because it wasn’t me, it was them, and I wasn’t for them.

I was rejected because I’m not commercial enough.

I was rejected because I’m not literary enough.

I was rejected because I’m not quite enough.

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I was rejected because I’m not Markus Zusak.

I was rejected because I can’t use language.

I was rejected because I shouldn’t have written a book.

I was rejected because I’m interesting and they are sure I will be snapped up, just not by them.

I was rejected because they were glad to see it but didn’t want it.

I was rejected because they don’t quite know where I belong.

I was rejected because it was Tuesday.

I was rejected because SpongeBob is the antichrist and shouldn’t be mentioned in any story.

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I was rejected because they were not looking for my kind of fiction at present.

I was rejected because I’m not Emma Chapman.

I was rejected because I don’t fit into a genre.

I was rejected because I don’t fit into one thing or another.

I was rejected because I don’t fit into a size twelve. (This might be a lie. I don’t, but no one said it.)

I was rejected because I’m not Marian Keyes.

I was rejected because someone whose name I can’t recall was imprisoned for buggery.

I was rejected because I have too many narrators.

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I was rejected because I have too many voices.

I was rejected because I have too many similes. (I agree. I’m working on it.)

I was rejected because no one is interested in the war anymore.

I was rejected because no one is interested in time-slip women’s fiction anymore.

I was rejected because no one is interested anymore.

I was accepted because an amazing woman called Karen Sullivan loved my books regardless of all these flaws. (Even the similes.)

Published by Louise Beech

I remember sitting in my musician father's cross-legged lap while he tried to show me the guitar chords. I was three. His music sheets fascinated me - strange language that translated into music. My mother taught French and English, so her fluency with words fired my interest. I love all forms of writing. My short stories have won the Glass Woman Prize, the Eric Hoffer Award for Prose, and the Aesthetica Creative Works competition, as well as shortlisting twice for the Bridport Prize and being published in a variety of UK magazines. My first play, Afloat, was performed at Hull Truck Theatre in 2012. I also wrote a ten-year newspaper column for the Hull Daily Mail about being a parent. My debut novel, How to be Brave, was a Guardian Readers' pick for 2015. My third novel Maria in the Moon was described as ‘quirky, darkly comic and heartfelt’ by the Sunday Mirror; The Lion Tamer Who Lost shortlisted for the Popular Romantic Novel of 2019 at the RNA Awards and longlisted for the Polari Prize 2019; Call Me Star Girl longlisted for the Guardian’s Not The Booker Prize and was Best magazine’s Best Book of the Year 2019; and I Am Dust was a Crime Magazine Monthly Pick. This Is How We Are Human was a Clare Mackintosh Book of the Month. Daffodils, the audiobook of my memoir, and Nothing Else were released 2022. End of Story (as Louise Swanson) and the paperback version of my memoir, Eighteen Seconds, were released in 2023. View more posts

17 thoughts on “I was rejected because…”

Bloody brilliant, you that is.

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And I’m so glad Karen saw the magic in your writing so we could all share it & love it x

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well done – I’m lucky if I even get a reply to say I’ve been rejected let alone why. It must be me lol

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Thank God Karen recognised amazing when she saw it😍! Gave Brave to a friend for Christmas and she said she had goosebumps reading it. How could anyone reject Grandad Colin?!! I’m set to read that story all over again this month ❤️

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Shamefully after enjoying How to be Brave and The Mountain in my Shoe sooo much, I’ve only just started reading Maria in the Moon and know I’m going to love it. So much so that I’ve postponed reading it for a few days until tomorrow when I go away for a chill out weekend in North Yorkshire. I want to savour it like a plump, perfectly picked similie (alliteration is my thing can you tell?)

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