I would like to thank you for submitting your film to us. Unfortunately, we are unable to include your film in this year’s festival. We wish you the best and thank you for sharing your art with us.
First, there is a small “ping” in my pocket as I wander down Raley’s bread aisle. The email’s subject line is enough, “your judging status has changed.” A short glance down at my phone tells me what I already know. As soon as my eyes spot the “thank you” it’s already over. I can feel myself tense up, preparing my body to be “fine.” And I am fine. For the first few hours, I can ignore it, but the feelings are a slow seep.
As fall approaches, the “pings” come more frequently. By the end of a day, sitting on the knowledge of another rejection, the cracks begin to show. Doubt creeps in, affecting everything. Every edit I make isn’t good enough–every slight inconvenience a spark to set me off. I start to come apart at the seams, but I must always tell myself it has nothing to do with the rejection. I am better than that. I have thick skin.
And so instead, I implode.
I know that in any creative field, you have to be good at rejection. You have to be better than the thousand “no’s” you will hear. Every time I hear the “ping” of the Gmail alert and see those polite words, thanking me for my creative endeavors, I have to be able to keep moving. If only out of spite. But so far it seems, it hasn’t gotten easier. Rejection still kills a small piece of me every time.
I come up with stories–reasons they rejected me. With On Goat Farming it could be the graphic content, the long slow death of a turkey as it chokes on its own blood. Or maybe it’s simply the length. Maybe coming in at 18 minutes, On Goat Farming just doesn’t fit a tight festival schedule. I have to find any reason why the rejection isn’t a reflection of me, and instead some lesson I can learn. But that never works.
At first, it was easy. We were already onto our next project. When I heard the little “ping” of rejection I knew it didn’t matter because we were focused on something new. We already learned our lessons from the last film and were onto the next–bigger and better. But now that we are deep into the next film I have reached the perfect intersection of self-doubt and professional confirmation. The On Homesteading edit is never quite good enough. On Goat Farming has officially become rejectable.
But even Francis Ford Coppola, a living legend, has been critically and commercially beaten down in the past few months over his magnum opus Megalopolis. It’s heartening to know that no one is ever free from rejection. And every rejection is like practice, a toughening up of my skin for the onslaught of future rejections. I’m like Rocky training for the big leagues. This is my montage.
On Sunday, I drove out to Happy Valley, in the heart of El Dorado County, to start shooting a new documentary. Above Happy Valley, the devastation from the Caldor Fire is still visible, though the community is beginning to rebuild with new homes. I’m excited about this next project and, inevitably, the rejections that will come with it. Documentary filmmaking is a beautiful excuse to connect with people, to be a small part of their lives, even if only as an observer. No matter how many rejections we receive, documentary is such a beautiful excuse to talk to people and be a small piece, an observer, of their lives.
– Nathan
