Ignoring Being Ignored

When clients don’t respond, don’t take it personally

You’ve read the writers guidelines or asked how the company prefers to deal with writers. After creating a pitch so perfect that the organization should use it as a model of what to do, you send it off. A week passes, then two, then a month, three, and … nothing. Not a single blessed word.

Every writer knows what goes through you at such a moment: rage, indignation, depression, self-pity, and the certain knowledge that you are a victim of cruel indifference. You want to pick up the phone and scream or dash off a nasty message. How dare they ignore you! After the time you spent writing the query or introductory letter. You’ve spent time and possibly even time that won’t come back, and can’t even get the courtesy of a reply.

Go ahead and let that howling inner voice shout – for about 30 seconds. And then … just … get … over … it. This is business.

Any time you deal with people as a writer (or an accountant or plumber or electrician, for that matter), you learn that the world is full of callous and indifferent people. Not all are like that, but many are. This happens to absolutely every writer, even big names. But one of the biggest differences I see between amateurs and true pros is the ability to separate writing from business.

Yes, you’re right. Common courtesy would suggest that at least a brief answer was in order. Like its cousin, common sense, courteousness is hardly customary. More often than not you’ll assume that clients must have astronomical star quality, because they are such black holes.

Nevertheless, it’s business. That means it isn’t and can’t be personal. This is a systematic attempt for you to gain some things that you want, not a touchstone for your ego. To keep it properly impersonal, set the right attitude. No matter how rude someone is, you must brush it off. When you think of it, to set your self value on the reaction of people you’ve never met is pretty silly.

More crucially, being ignored is unimportant. Are you writing to be famous and admired? (There are more efficient ways of achieving this.) Or do you wish to write things of worth that might help people? This isn’t a rhetorical question. Getting better known certainly means a greater chance of getting work published, but even then it’s using notoriety as a means to an end, and not the end itself. When the ego predominates, the quality of the word receeds.

To some degree, both answers are in each of us, and in one situation after another we all must choose between them, because at their essence they are incompatible. If you pick the former, then nothing really will make you happy. Trying to make art serve you never works and ultimately is always a disappointment.

On the other hand, if you pick the latter, then your duty is to your work and not your bruised feelings. The more of your energy you pour into anger, the less you have to be productive. To let yourself slide off into fury and stay there is not to justifiably react to an insult, but to actively cause harm to yourself and that work, which should be greater than you.

You best do justice to the higher cause of what you try to achieve by treating such problems as business – ironic, as creative people widely distain business as a base activity. After you’ve contacted a client, put on your business hat and don’t react. Use your imagination to remove the indignation. Unfeeling and uncaring oafs might populate a given organization – or some overwhelmed staff person could have lost your letter. Someone might have accidentally dropped your query into the “already answered” pile. People might be massively overworked and embarrassed. Emails might be going into a spam filter. (This is far more common than you might think.) Lash out and your action might be unfair and burn a bridge in a world that is small, and where people talk.

Even when – not if – someone clearly ignores you, gnash your teeth briefly if you must, and then forget it. Consider the value of the information you now have. A company that would treat writers as unworthy of a response is unlikely to treat you with respect should someone there ask you to take an assignment. Anyway, you can still get your answer. Wait the amount of time the organization requests, give it a couple of more weeks, and then contact it and politely and pleasantly ask where things are. If the representatives say they need more time, be gracious and agree – and ask when you should contact them again. Being pleasant and upbeat, you put them into a position of feeling an obligation of courtesy, and being persistent, they cannot hide.

Will you still feel irritated from time to time? Of course; you’re human. But as you practice this approach, you’ll find that it bothers you less each occasion, and by taking your ego out of the way, you can make better decisions of how to move your plays forward.

The "Best Writer" Myth

If you've ever attended a writers' conference or read the first writing business self-help book, you've come across this dictum: "Show that you're the best writer for this job." It's been repeated so often that it has become a factoid, but like many factoids, it's not really true. It just sounds like it should be.

I know that is going to sound outrageous to many, but hang in for a moment. Editors say this repeatedly for two major reasons. One is that they hear other editors say this repeatedly, and who wants to look like a dope by saying something that colleagues might find wrong. The other reason is that they are actually, albeit inaccurately, trying to convey something they need, but that relatively few writers provide.

To get to the value, let's deconstruct this statement. Is there a "best writer" in any category? Obviously not. If there were, and if the editors were serious, you'd only see one version of any story. Imagine the quandary of of the women's titles or any specialty interest magazine. They'd never be able to run a second article on a subject. And if the editors were serious abut there being a best writer for a story, there would be such competition that editorial rates would actually - gasp - go up!

That's obviously a silly thought. Editors aren't so naive as to think that writers are this uniquely and singularly qualified. No, they're actually saying something slightly different. They want the best writer they can find for that topic at that moment without actually having to put in significant effort in looking. Best writer actually means some combination of seven things:

• The writer has an advantage in covering the story. That advantage may be expert knowledge, experience covering the topic, inside connections, proximity for something that needs live coverage, or any other factor that helps get a better story.


• The writer's style or voice lends itself to the topic or will provide a unique take that adds value to the reporting.


• The writer is well-known enough that having the person connected to the topic will increase sales of the magazine or newspaper issue.


• The writer's working style will mesh well with the publication's editorial process and needs.


• The publication can keep within its budget for the writer, which could mean that the writer is inexpensive enough, or that the necessary premium isn't too dear.


• The writer is available to do the assignment.


• The editor will look good in the eyes of his or her boss after the assignment is done.

As you can see, this is a subjective judgment of comparative superlative worth. The "best" writer for one publication might not be the "best" for another, and your standing at the apex of all possible writers drops quickly if the magazine decides that it can't afford you.

Now that we have the theory, let's get to the practical application. What editors really ask for when saying that they want the "best" writer is that writers pitching a story address these needs. In other words, we're back to thinking like the client and trying to meet the client's needs, both spoken and unspoken, material and emotional. To increase your fitness for that latest fitness story, weave answers for each of these points into your pitch. That doesn't mean the editor will see you as the best fit. It may be that someone else with a similar idea has a better degree of connection, or more expertise, or what have you. It might be that while two writers both have five out of the seven points, one has more of the ones that are a higher priority for that editor. But the greater a degree to which you can show that you will satisfy these needs, the better and better you look to an editor.