I’m pretty good at keeping the business part of my work separate and not taking it personally. I don’t usually find it hard to sell stuff, even if it might take ten, twenty, sometimes even more tries. If I’m patient enough, I know, my stories will get placed.

But once in a while a rejection will arrive that will send me spiraling out of control. I curled up and cried for hours when a story I’d worked on for over a year came back rejected from a publication that had initially believed in it. I eventually managed to get the interest of some of the top publications (in the world, no kidding), but there was always something: you don’t speak Chinese (and we can’t hire a translator), there are no documented statistics, we have to reveal identifying characteristics (which would get my sources in a lot of trouble). The story hasn’t been broken yet. Maybe one day I’ll still have the chance to do it.

Sometimes, it’s the personal essays. Very powerful story, one editor at the New York Times wrote to me. Unfortunately, a bit off for his section. That one sent me straight to a box of chocolate chip cookies, fifty of which I finished in a single day.

But mostly, it’s the stories I’ve put my heart and soul into, worked on for months, believed in, spent hours researching and interviewing for, and have still been unable to place. I have a few lying around that haven’t found a loving home yet. I call them my personal projects. They bring me the most pain.

Maybe the only way to deal with rejection is keeping the hope that one day, maybe someday soon, their time too will come.