Rejection, Walt Disney’s Swamp, and My Own Crossroads

I woke up to another rejection email today. It was polite, almost too polite:

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Thank you for responding to us. We appreciate your platform and mission. However, after delving a bit more into the market, we could see this project isn’t quite a fit for us. We decline with the greatest respect and deepest regret.

We appreciate you for thinking of us and wish you continued success.

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I want to be mad at it. I want to give up. Writing agent queries is exhausting. A pleasant rejection is still a rejection, and rejection hurts. It makes me question everything. Do I have what it takes? Am I just screaming into the void?

I closed my laptop and exhaled, rubbing my temples. I needed a distraction. My mind drifted back to another time I felt stuck, questioning my next move.

It was October 2005, and the colored leaves were barely hanging onto the trees as Jim and I drove through the Pinehills in Plymouth. We had been spending a lot of time together back then—me, trying to make sense of my life, and Jim, well, Jim always had a story. Officially, he was one of the two principal owners of Abbott Real Estate Development, and I was a junior analyst. But when we were writing together, we had no titles. He was my first editor, my sounding board, the person who challenged me to see things differently.

Abbott Development had purchased a 60-acre development site in the Pinehills in what was supposed to be the largest new residential and commercial development in New England. But by 2005, construction had all but stopped. The project was plagued by financial difficulties, and for all the ambitious plans, there wasn’t much to see—just trees.

Jim slowed the car and gestured toward a sign nailed to a pair of trees. It read: Welcome to the Pinehills. I stared at the empty expanse beyond it.

“What do you see?” Jim asked, his voice carrying the certainty of someone who already knew my answer.

“Trees,” I said. “A lot of trees.”

Jim chuckled. “That’s what most people see. But let me tell you a story.”

He leaned into the steering wheel, his voice gaining energy. “You ever hear how Walt Disney built Disney World? He stood on a desolate, swampy stretch of land in Florida, seeing something extraordinary when no one else could. Investors didn’t see the magic—just worthless land.”

Jim turned toward me, his expression alive with the same passion he poured into his own developments. “Walt didn’t just face skepticism—he was rejected over and over. Some say he went to fifty investors before someone finally got on board. Imagine that. Fifty times, people told him no. Fifty times, they couldn’t see what he saw.”

Jim grinned. “But Walt? He didn’t care about what was. He believed in what could be. And the rest? The rest is history. That swamp became Disney World.”

I looked back at the trees, but now they felt different. It wasn’t just empty space anymore—it was potential.

Jim saw what I was thinking. “You get rejected, right?” he asked, his voice steady. “And it makes you wonder if you’re wasting your time.”

I nodded.

He smiled. “That’s exactly how Walt felt. But he didn’t stop. Because he knew what he was building before anyone else did.”

I’m done thinking about the rejection email sitting in my inbox. I’m done thinking about the agent who saw my idea but didn’t think it was quite right for them. About the polite words that still stung.

Now, I’m thinking about that story. About Walt. About Jim. About how easy it would be to take this rejection as a sign to stop. I could let the agents’ doubts convince me that my book isn’t worth fighting for. I can do what Walt did—keep pushing. Keep believing. Keep building until they have no choice but to see what I see.

And this is where you come in.

Every successful project needs believers. Walt Disney had them. The Pinehills had them. And now, I’m asking you to help me prove that these agents made the same mistake those bankers did when they passed on Disney’s vision.

Let’s Build This Together

If you believe in stories of faith, resilience, and overcoming adversity, if you think The Dog Story deserves a place in the world, I need your help.

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Because one day, we might look back on this moment as the start of something magical. And when that happens, I’ll be grateful for every single person who believed in me when my dream was still just a swamp.

Thank you for being here. Let’s turn this vision into reality.