Theodore Dreiser's royalties from Sister Carrie totaled $68.40, shuttering the great novelist in emotional and financial darkness. Discouragement caused Stephen King to pitch Carrie into the trash, a grave which might have interred King's literary imagination but for his wife, who rescued the manuscript. And J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone had to defeat the wizards of nay at 15 publishers before it and its sequels went on to sell 250 million copies--so far.

Rejection and adversity are hardly unique to writers. Henry Ford was stranded by three bankruptcies before building his engine to success. Twentieth-Century Fox canceled Marilyn Monroe's contract in 1947 because an executive didn't think she was attractive; the same studio dumped a young Humphrey Bogart, who spent a period in the bowels of radio reading ads for laxatives.

The volumes of such stories are becoming something of a literary subgenre, and it's not surprising. There is, after all, something sustaining, if not exhilarating, about the early trials and traumas of outstanding people. The formula is somewhat standard--indisputable promise, devastating setback, then the inevitable (if sometimes posthumous) vindication--and the path in hindsight looks like a well-marked trail. Like a pulley, the stories bring the mighty down to eye level, turn the tables on critics, and the nectar of irony refreshes the hopes of the weary. Fortune and fame may be uncommon, but rejection and failure are almost universal for anyone who dares to try.

If the moral of the story, though, is easy enough to recognize--that one must pursue passions with conviction and not be dominated or terminally discouraged by others' opinions--applying it is trickier. Opinions inevitably come from all quarters, solicited or not, from qualified and unqualified sources, family, friends and enemies. It tends to be the discouraging opinions that stick and reinforce the fear of failure.

"Negative information carries greater weight than positive information," says Edward Hirt, associate professor of psychology at Indiana University. "One theory is that people believe there's a general positive bias in what people say. In other words, if someone says something good, you figure they're just saying it, whereas if they say something bad, they must really mean it."

Or worse, that they must be right.

Monitoring sensitivity levels

Social scientists say there's a continuum of people's sensitivity to others' opinions. On one end are "high self-monitors" who can adjust their behavior to fit different groups or circumstances. They typically have a lot of friends with whom they blend easily; their highly adapted social skills belie an awareness of what other people think. On the other end are "low self-monitors," who tend to have a more intimate social circle. They're far less susceptible to others' opinions, including the ones that might be useful to hear.

"At the extremes are people who really are one way or the other all the time," Hirt says. "Sometimes there are situations in which you should stick to your guns or else there is no sense of who you are except as a function of the company you keep at that moment. On the other side, the low self-monitor is a person who always knows exactly where he stands but can be resistant to smooth social interaction."

Then there are "self-handicappers," people who are so afraid of failing that they manufacture excuses for falling short or even sabotage their own chances in advance, such as the student who stays out all night before a major exam, or the person who tells everyone in advance that they don't care about the result, even when a lot is clearly at stake.

"Some people are too fearful," says Hirt. "They believe what they want to believe about themselves and dismiss anything anyone else has to say. They're typically people who spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think. A typical response of people who fear they won't do well is, 'But it doesn't matter anyway.' The response doesn't fit the action: if they really dismissed something as unworthy, they wouldn't be worried about it. There's a lot of self-deception that goes with it all."

For those who are able to be more honest with themselves, says Susan Newman, author of Nobody's Baby Now: Reinventing Your Adult Relationship With Your Mother and Father, a few simple factors come into play.

"The two main issues are the respect for and credibility of the person who is giving the feedback, plus the desire of the person receiving the criticism to please the critic," Newman says. "The other factor is prior experience. If you've been criticized in a productive framework, in a positive light, you'll be more open to the message."

The value of criticism

Even harsh criticism is not necessarily a bad thing. The key, experts say, is extracting what's useful from criticism, even if it's delivered in a gratuitous way or in the form of rejection.

"Criticism that's handled well is instructive," says Newman. "It should enhance a person's life or career because in some way it's about changing your approach to something."

Research shows that mood has a lot to do with critical receptiveness. When people feel positive, they tend to be less self-protective. The ability to respond well to criticism, though, sometimes comes down to a matter of character.

"Even if you acknowledge that things are changeable, do you have the drive or the persistence to do what's required?" Hirt says. "If someone gives you a hard time, you might say, "I'll show them.' Or you might say, 'Hey, there's nothing I can do about this.' Regardless of how you interpret the feedback, though, what does it do to your motivation level?"

For Ken Christian, author of Your Own Worst Enemy: Breaking the Habit of Adult Underachievement, the key to getting past discouraging hurdles is pursuing something that transcends the results. "You have to find something that's worth failing for, something worth doing for its intrinsic value so that failure becomes irrelevant." Volunteer work, either charitable or belief-based causes, are things that people tend to do without worrying about how others might view the effort or the outcome. It's worth taking the same approach to other ventures.

Of course, the most effective antidote to failure is success--Chicken Soup for the Dejected, if you will--and a future notation in the annals of ironic rejections.

Todd Pitock is hoping his own rejection stories will make the canon of literary anecdotes for future generations.