We publish five rejected stories a quarter. For free. We’re still going to reject most of yours.
We’re gatekeepers. We just don’t lie about it.
This is the part where I’m supposed to put a subscribe button…
I will.
But not yet…
…you haven’t earned it and neither have I.
December 2024.
I hired an editor because I was tired of wondering if I could write. Then I did the dumbest thing a writer can do ( or the smartest) I sent it to people who could say no.
Chuck Palahniuk’s & Michal Bailey’s contest. The literary equivalent of trying to walk on to a major league baseball team.
Then came the ritual.
Refresh.
Refresh.
Refresh.
Silence.
Two months later, the email arrived.
Thank you for submitting to Silent Nightmares: Haunting Stories to Be Told on the Longest Night of the Year.
While your story is not the right fit for this anthology, know that it was carefully considered.
Sincerely, Michael Bailey (and Chuck).
Chuck. In parentheses.
I read it twice. Said fuck out loud to an empty room which somehow made it worse.
Rejection doesn’t kill the story.
It keeps it breathing through a straw.
Just enough oxygen to make you try again.
The accepted stories disappear into anthologies. The rejected stories haunt people.
I couldn’t stop thinking about all the writers staring at the same email. The same form letters. The same silence. People waiting for permission.
So I reached out to another reject to build The Rejects.
This is for you. The people collecting rejection letters like trading cards. The people crazy enough to hit send again.
Every magazine is built on acceptance. This one was built on rejection.
The story they rejected? I ran it here. It’s still up.
According to copywriting structure, this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you I’m exactly like you.
I’m not gonna do that.
Instead, I’ll count for you.
MFA tuition. $1,125 per credit hour. GI Bill only covered half so I dropped out.
$15-50 to a literary journals to read my story. They take six months. They send another email. Sometimes nothing.
$500 workshops on Breaking In, taught by a guy they let in once.
I stopped counting when I checked Substack’s bestseller list and they were all writers selling to other writers.
How orignalllllll….
So I built the inverse.
We will reject you. Free to submit. Answer in thirty days.
Feedback that will crush your dreams.
Every single time.
Five stories per quarter. One winner. One annual print.
The best of the year, between two covers.
Writers get paid. Readers fund the publication. That’s the trade.
Four ways to subscribe. Pick one.
Free — $0. Interviews, behind-the-scenes, the editor’s letter. Seven days of free access to every story on launch day.
Paid — $7 / month. Everything above, plus the full story archive after the seven-day window.
Annual — $70 / year. Everything above, plus the annual print edition shipped to your door at year’s end.
Founders — $150 / year. Everything above, plus a signed copy of the print and your name in the masthead.
Print ships to US addresses only for now. International subscribers get everything else — interviews, full archive, behind-the-scenes — minus the physical copy. We’ll expand when we can.
Now this is where I’m supposed to tell you why The Rejects is different.
I’m not gonna do that.
If you’ve read this far and I’ve done my job, there’s not much else to be said.
…but in case you want to know…
I’m a writer collecting rejections on my debut novel.
Which is why we pay $300 a quarter to writers. $100 to the winner. $50 to each runner-up.
Submission is free. No reading fee. No required subscription.
I’ll tell you where it sucks and why it got rejected.
So. About that button.
You haven’t earned it and neither have I.
But you read this far. So here.
The stories that got rejected are still up. We’re still going to reject most of yours.
M.P. started this with me. He’s stepped away — life, the real kind, no bad blood — so I run it now. That doesn’t change where it came from.
