Rejection. Rejection. Rejection. (Why it is a good thing)

Many of you will know me best for posting about rejection on LinkedIn, specifically the way I look for positives in what can feel like an incredibly negative response to our hard work.

I don’t always agree that submitting to competitions is worthwhile. There are some which absolutely are, for example The Page Awards, Final Draft, and perhaps a few of the larger festivals too. But to be confident your work is genuinely at that level of competition, you must do your research.

Many of the smaller competitions, I’m sorry to say, are a bit of a fool’s errand.

Yes, it feels lovely receiving a Highly Commended or a Laurel. But what does that actually do for your script, and for you?

And I can say with some certainty, as somebody who has been pre-selecting, shortlisting, and judging scripts in competitions and schemes of all sizes for over six years now, that sometimes your script is simply the best of a bad bunch.

There, I said it. Sorry!

Without context or feedback, some of these placements are almost meaningless.

Agents, producers, and development executives generally don’t care if your script won the “Town-No-One-Has-Heard-Of International Film Festival”. They care about the big ones. And usually, you need to work your way up to those. I’ll talk more about that in another newsletter.

That said, competitions can help you understand the impact your work has on an audience, which is something that comes up repeatedly in funding applications and interviews. But equally, you don’t necessarily need a competition to tell you that.

In a recent newsletter about the WFTV Kay Mellor Lab, I talked about how schemes such as BBC Writers, Channel 4 Screenwriting, and regional labs are not magic wands. They are more like rubber stamps you can take out into the industry as leverage, proof that somebody has already identified you as a writer worth investing time in.

There’s often a lot of bitterness that follows these kinds of rejections, usually directed at the organisation itself, and I’d gently remind everyone reading this that there are very few opportunities out there. Most of these organisations are genuinely trying to support writers whilst balancing budgets, staffing, and their own day jobs.

Of course these schemes feel incredibly competitive. There are thousands of applicants and only a handful of places. It isn’t surprising so many of us end up feeling like it’s a lottery.

And perhaps sometimes it is.

Which means ultimately, the reasons we didn’t get selected are often too vast and unknowable for us to internally digest in any meaningful way. All we can really do is our best.

So let’s cut them a little slack. At least these guys are trying to give us opportunities. If you want to express frustration, take it to some of the other broadcasters and streamers who aren’t providing any opportunities at all.

And yes, though there are lots of applicants, this industry really is surprisingly small, and badly behaved people are remembered.

Gratitude is the best attitude.

And when you speak to other writers who themselves are doing very well, they are too. Which only reinforces how impossible it is to second guess why you weren’t selected.

Firstly, I layer my applications. I don’t put all my eggs in one basket. I rely on the knowledge that if not this, then maybe that.

I also use submissions as a way to write towards a brief, a deadline, or a goal. It’s honestly one of the reasons I built my portfolio so quickly.

As I’ve mentioned before, I believe deeply in the power of yet. And I keep applying in the hope that when the time is right, perseverance will prevail.

But most importantly, I look for the things I can learn from.

It’s become a bit of a personal strapline of mine because it helps me take genuine value from rejection instead of simply absorbing disappointment.

First, I reflect.

I think carefully about what I submitted, the quality of it, the challenge itself, how I rose to it, where I struggled, what my application said about me at that moment in time. I look back at old forms and old CVs and it’s honestly astonishing how differently I positioned myself even a year ago, let alone three.

I try to put myself in the shoes of the organisation and ask why this may have been a “no”.

Then I revise.

My CV. My statements. My scripts. My outlook.

I think carefully about the things I may need to adapt or improve in order to grow within this industry. I put scripts back into draft and send them to trusted peers for feedback.

And then finally, I resubmit.

Knowing that my overall offer is stronger than it was before. That way, I can be sure I’m growing and not simply treading water.

“Write what you know,” they say. And of course we do. We use deep, raw parts of ourselves, consciously and unconsciously. I love nothing more than watching my fingers dance across the keyboard and surprising myself with what arrives on the page.

But we aren’t serial killers simply because we write about them. Meaning we must learn to separate ourselves from the work.

Yes, writing is deeply personal. But when our work is critiqued, it is not us being critiqued. It is our craft, our storytelling, our professionalism, our ability to communicate an idea.

And if you cannot handle rejection at this stage, it becomes much harder later when funding falls through, projects collapse, notes arrive, executives challenge your ideas, or productions change direction entirely.

It is genuinely in your best interests to make peace with this process as it is a constant friend. And anyway, we are creatives; ideas are our business. If something isn’t working, we say: “Okay. What next?”

And we pivot.

That adaptability, that resilience, that ability to keep moving without becoming impossible to work with, is one of the most attractive qualities you can bring into this industry.

As ever, I hope this helps.

Hit reply and tell me how you feel about rejection now.

Helen

Next up… How Festival Pre-Selectors Rate Your Film / Script