You know the feeling. You spent weeks on a song and you were sure that this song was going to be the one to break though all the noise.
You send it off to a publisher, or pitch it to an artist, or even put it up for a sync brief, and then nothing. Just silence. Or maybe you released it yourself and watched it get streamed forty times before it quietly disappeared.
So here it is, the blunt version first: yes, as a songwriter you are going to fail sometimes, and part of the job is to get over it.
I know that sounds harsh, like something a person says when they’ve never had a song go nowhere but stay with me, because I’m not telling you to toughen up and stop feeling things. The failure is real and it stings.
That’s exactly why you need an actual strategy instead of a stiff upper lip. And the best strategy I’ve come across for this situation didn’t come from a songwriter at all.
The quote that changes how you see the whole thing
The American journalist and writer Po Bronson once said this about rejection:
“Failure is part of it. You will be rejected dozens and dozens of times. The best way to prepare for it is to have something else in the works by the time the rejection letter arrives. Invest your hope in the next project. Learning to cope with rejection is a good trait to develop.”
In this quote, Bronson is making three separate points…
First, rejection is guaranteed. Not possible, not likely but guaranteed, and in large numbers. So stop reading each “no” as a verdict on whether you’re any good. It isn’t one.
Second, and this is the clever bit, the way you cope isn’t willpower. It’s already having moved on. If the next song is already underway when the pass arrives, that rejection lands on something you’ve partly let go of. Your hope has relocated.
Third, coping with rejection is a skill worth building on its own. Not a burden you tolerate on the way to becoming a songwriter, but part of what being one actually means.
The thing underneath all of this is simple. It’s a portfolio approach to hope.
If your entire emotional weight is riding on one song, one pitch, one release, then any single “no” can flatten you. Spread that weight across several things in progress and no single outcome can wipe you out.
Songwriters get rejected in more ways than almost anyone
Bronson was talking to novelists, who mostly get rejected in one clean way: an editor’s letter saying no. Songwriters have it worse, because the rejection comes from every direction at once.
Pitches to artists that go nowhere. Publisher submissions that vanish. Sync briefs you were perfect for and still didn’t get. Co-writers who pass on the idea. Playlist editors who never respond. And then the slow one, the release you were proud of that just doesn’t move at all.
The old Nashville wisdom is that you write a hundred songs to land one cut. If this number is even close to true, then rejection isn’t a sign the system is broken. Rejection is the system. It’s the ninety-nine doing their job so the one can happen.
The trap of the one perfect song
Here’s the failure mode I see most, and I’ve fallen into it myself.
You write one song you’re convinced is “The One.” You pin everything on it. Your mood, your momentum, your sense of whether you’re actually a songwriter, all of it riding on this single track getting placed.
Then it gets passed over, and you’re wrecked for a week. You don’t write. You question the whole thing.
Now picture the other songwriter. Same pass, same “no,” but they’re already three songs deep into the next thing. For them, that rejection is a rounding error. It barely registers, because their attention and their hope are already somewhere else.
Same event, completely different impact. The only difference is what was in the works when the “no” arrived.
“Something else in the works” is easy in songwriting
This is where Bronson’s advice fits songwriters even better than novelists, because volume is already built into the craft. Nobody expects you to write one song and stop. Writing a lot is the normal state.
So having something else in the works isn’t some heroic act of discipline. It’s just doing the thing you already do. Finish one song, start the next song, and let the last song go make its own way in the world.
And letting it go isn’t the same as abandoning it. A song you shelve today can get pulled out years later for a sync you never saw coming, or a cut from an artist who wasn’t even on your radar when you wrote it.
Your catalogue keeps working long after your attention has moved on. Declining to let a song’s first reception dictate your output is not giving up on the song. It’s refusing to let one quiet week decide your next direction.
The hard part that nobody talks about
I want to be honest about where this advice gets difficult, because pretending it’s easy is how you lose people.
A novelist’s rejection is usually private and clean. One letter, one clear “no,” and you know it’s time to move on. A songwriter’s rejection is often public and slow. A release doesn’t get rejected so much as it fades, in front of everyone, with no letter and no clear moment where someone tells you it’s over.
That’s harder to move past, because there’s nothing to react to. No decision point. Just a fade. And when there’s no “no” to push against, you have to make the call yourself. You have to decide the song has had its run and turn back to the work.
Why this is a skill, not a life sentence
Come back to Bronson’s last line. Learning to cope with rejection is a good trait to develop, like a muscle.
Think about what that does over a whole career. The songwriter who can take a passed pitch and be back behind the studio desk the same afternoon writes far more songs than the one who needs a week to recover from every no.
More songs means more shots. More shots means more chances that something connects. Whether we like it or not, or care to admit, this songwriting caper can be a numbers game.
This is the forward-looking part, and it’s the part most people miss. The songwriters who “make it” often aren’t the most talented in the room. They’re the ones still writing after the tenth no, while the more gifted people who couldn’t take the hits have long since stopped. S
taying in the game is its own kind of talent, and unlike the other kind, you can actually build it.
So what do you do with all this
Bring the two ideas together and you’ve got your answer. Yes, get over it but the way you do get over it isn’t by gritting your teeth. It’s by continuing the workload.
Have the next song already in progress, so that when the pass comes, it lands on something you’ve already half let go of. Invest your hope forward. Keep the notebook full.
Rejection isn’t the thing standing between you and being a songwriter. Learning to move through it is part of what makes you one. The pass will still sting. That’s fine. It’s supposed to. You just don’t get to stop writing because of it.
So the honest answer to “how do I deal with songwriting rejection” turns out to be almost boring. Write the next song. Then the one after that and the one after that and so on.
A fuller notebook is the only defence that has ever really worked, and the good news is it’s entirely within your control.
