Economy of Recognition

I read an article yesterday (Interview with Cleo Qian) that resonated with me. (And I absolutely want to give full credit of the phrase “economy of recognition” to Cleo Qian. That is her beautiful construction, not mine, but it struck a spark for me.)

From the interview in Famous Writing Routines with Cleo Qian:

Your work has appeared in over 20 outlets and you have received recognition for your writing, including the Zoetrope: All Story Short Fiction Competition, Pushcart Prize nominations, and support from the Sundress Academy for the Arts. How do you think this type of recognition has impacted on your writing career overall? 

When you frame it like that, it seems like a lot of recognition. But this belies how much rejection I have faced in proportion. I have a spreadsheet – I have probably been receiving a hundred rejections a year for nearly a decade. I have complicated feelings about the economy of recognition.

What is the ‘economy of recognition’?

In the seven years I’ve been submitting to journals, magazines, and contests, my acceptance rate is just over 21%. Is that good? Is that bad? Is the glass half-empty or half-full? Does it mean anything at all? Does anybody really know what time it is? (An important question from the band Chicago.)

Putting yourself and your work out into the ether of an incredibly subjective space (art and, more specifically, writing) is daunting. Nah, more than that. It’s scary as fuck. There are few rules and even those that exist can be broken if you break them the “right” way. What one person loves, another person hates. What one journal rejects, another accepts, saying “This was perfection!” (Seriously. That happened.)

"C'est la vie,” say the old folks, “It goes to show you never can tell.” At least according to Chuck Berry.

So, how much should we, as writers and artists, worry about recognition? And how personally should we take rejection?

Which leads to another question: does “recognition” only come from outside sources or does it also come from friends/family/personal aquaintances/fuck buddies/whatever? To put it another way: if a piece is accepted by a magazine and published online, and receives praise from strangers, but no family or friends comment or share it, what does that mean for the author? Is recognition worth more if it comes from the world at large or if it comes from the writer/artist’s inner circle? Does it change if something is published in hard copy or only digitally? What about the form, the genre? Are novels worth more recognition than short stories and are short stories worth more than poems? What about romance versus literary versus horror?

(And, although I’m not specifically talking about payment or financials here, it still begs the question: Does actual monetization play into this and, if so, how? If you make money off a piece, does that make it more worthy [worthier?] of recognition?)

Privilege also factors in, because of course it does. The more privileged you are, the better connected you are, the more money you have and are willing to spend, the bigger the reach you can achieve. The bigger the reach means increased recognition. Increased recognition leads to bigger reach. And so on and so on and scooby-dooby-dooby, in the words of Sly and the Family Stone. This is a big part of why helping to expand an artist’s reach, if you are able to, is so important, even if it’s just sharing a link on your Facebook page.

Ultimately, I put myself and my work out into the world to be, hopefully, widely read and enjoyed. I clutch every acceptance like a dragon hoards books. Every like, every share, every comment, mean something to me. The more recognition, the more encouragement, I get makes it easier to push through the hard times when imposter syndrome is kicking my ass. It’s like an endorphin rush. It keeps me going.

And the rejections? Eh, it comes with the territory. Some sting more than others, but I can’t be afraid of them. Silence from the inner-circle? That’s harder to take.

So how does one do the calculus of economy of recognition? How much of ourselves do we put into that equation? And what does it cost us?

It’s a hard thing to answer.