What do you do with your rejection slips/letters?

Just toss them. I kept them for a while, when I first started out. Mostly to show my family that I was doing something with the writing, but pulling them out just made me feel bad and like a failure to have a stack of any size. So I trashed them and discovered that I didn't miss them, I didn't want to look at them again. I didn't even think about them.

So, when they come now, I glance to confirm they are rejections, then into the garbage they go. Get whatever I'm submitting off to the next person on the list and keep the process going. I've seen too many personalized rejections over the years to think they mean anything and form letters are only better than silence.

I'm not a person who gets invigorated by such reminders, so I never understood how King was. I accept it, but I don't understand it. I think as long as you do what's right for you, when you discover what's right for you, all is good.

I keep one historical rejection but most of the others are e-rejections so i delete them. Unfortunately I have a small, icy spot in my heart for each and every agent and publisher that has ever rejected my stuff. I wish I were a nicer person but i am not. And if I am ever granted Super Villain status THEY WILL PAY-- Lex Luthor6!

... the only ones I save are hand-written ones from notable publications. (Yep. Still send hard copies from time to time.) One complimentary rejection from the Paris Review was written on the back of the return envelope, as an afterthought. About a paragraph long

Mine are all email rejections, and I keep them all neatly stacked in my inbox mainly just because I started doing it four years ago when I got my first rejections and haven't really decided a good enough reason to delete them yet. The new ones that come in are saved out of habit. I don't plan on doing anything with them, but I suppose it is a form of motivation to keep them all.

I have mine saved in an email file. I plan to print them out and shred them in the food processor. Then make little paper mache reject critters to paint and put on my desk. They can keep me company when I write.

I have plenty of rejections in my file, just have to get around to doing it.

Considering the OP already has two published novels, I'd say she's doing very well for herself and congrats!

As for rejections, all mine have been cyber-NO's, so I deleted them, those had a simple "No, thank you, it's not what we're looking for" (or words to that effect). I have saved a few (forgot how many) which had something constructive to say, and I must admit, their comments helped me make my works better and they were much appreciated.

I've kept all mine in an accordion file -- the 281 agent rejections for my debut novel take up the lion's share of the space. Taken together, those slips of paper add up to visual proof of the necessity for persistance in this writing life. Not to mention hefty proof! I now need both hands to lift that sucker.

I also keep an exhaustive log of all rejections and acceptances. Otherwise I'd be sure to torture editors by resubbing the same story over and over.

I digitize mine (so I can go back and check which comments/slips came from which mag about which story if I need to) then toss them, with a few exceptions.

There are some physical rejection slips I have kept and always will keep. I have a lengthy, type written rejection in which Dr. Schmidt tears my science apart that's a prized possession. I was like "Wow! He thought I was worth taking the time to tear my science apart." It's in my desk drawer somewhere .

I'm keeping all my e-rejections but threw away my paper ones. I'm already too much of a packrat, especially for paper and books. I don't look at the rejections so I don't really know why I keep them, but I do.

I keep mine in a folder in my inbox. Haven't received any paper ones!

Since I don't send out in paper form, my rejections are all email. I've been thinking of looking for one of those stores that sells miscellaneous shiny things like candles and jewelry and beads, and making a necklace of some kind where every bead represents a rejection. That way I turn them into something real that I can hold in my hand, and it'll hopefully look pretty at the same time.

I used to keep them with a hard copy of the story, then I'd just write the name of the story and when I received the rejection on the back of each. I still have many of my rejection slips from when I first started. But since the advent of electronic submissions and rejections, I've sort of lost the habit of saving them. My first computer died and with it all the email rejections. My second computer died and with it all those email rejections. So I've lost about 15 years worth of email rejections. Which saddens me because I'm a hoarder.

Move to trash -> clear trash -> never happened. RIGHT?

I just note where I sent the queries so I don't do a faux pas and send it twice to one agent.

I put paper rejection letters in a folder and never look at them again. I save email rejections and never look at them again, either. However, for each project, I keep a list of all submissions and rejections, sometimes with a few words of explanation, so that I'll remember what interactions I had with a given agent or publisher. The information will be useful if I approach that person/organization again.

I have no interest in counting rejections or spending much time thinking about them, except to the extent they might help me improve my writing--and my querying and submission techniques.

I am in love with this decoupaged writer's rejection screen! Maybe I'll have to go Pinterest up something to do with mine.

Mine are all electronic, but I don't delete them. I guess I like taking up a corner of ye olde internetes with my rejections.

I record the information and then delete them. I'd rather make space for the acceptances.

I've considered printing my e-rejections but never have gotten around to it. Probably not having a printer is part of it.

What I do with my e-rejects, however, is move them into a folder titled "keep going." Gives me a bit of hope.