As in, very deeply buried. This weekend, the disaster that is my desk got to be too much even for me, so I hauled some file boxes into my office and began an excavation, purging old files, making room for new ones.

Deep within the old ones, I found one labeled “Agent Queries.”

“This should be good,” I thought. And it was, but not in the way I thought. I figured I’d get a belly laugh out of it, dating to the days when I was sending out my first manuscript, a book that (rightly) never found a publisher, and exists today only in a single cannibalized chapter that I rewrote and put into my third novel, Disgraced. These days, I’m embarrassed to think that I even sent it out.

But. But. Flipping through the file reminded me that Wind River, as I called that fumbling first novel, got a “very enthusiastic” first reading from a terrific agency, and made it to another round before being rejected with the standard “we are simply not enthusiastic enough.”

How had I forgotten this? I must have been over the moon when getting that first note, and probably hardly slept at all during the three weeks before the final rejection.

And there was a very encouraging note from another agent, praising specific parts and comparing one section to the writing of Rick Bass (!). At the time, I was probably crushed (except for the Rick Bass part);  now I see that sort of feedback as rare and valuable.

There was a letter from a respected literary magazine, rejecting a story, but again with specifics as to why, and asking that I resubmit after a rewrite. Did I do so? The files are a jumble, and I can’t find a second rejection. But I sure hope I did. Anyway, several years later, after extensive rewriting, that same story was published in a different magazine (and republished in two anthologies), won me at least two residencies and was nominated for a Pushcart.

My point? All during the years I felt so hopeless (and still do on about every third day), I was actually getting wonderful encouragement that I was on the right path. Wind River was roundly rejected in 2005; it would be another eight years before I published my first novel. But I’ve had one published nearly every year since, and two this year.

I’m belatedly but deeply grateful to the agents and editors who took the time to write such thoughtful notes, giving me just enough of a push to keep at it. If you’ve just started collecting rejections, hang onto the good ones and take their advice to heart. They mean you’re on to something.