I’m waiting…waiting…waiting… The manuscript is with another agent. This writing business isn’t all champagne launches, movie rights and dollars flooding into the bank account. (What bank account!?) For most of us, it’s not like the writers on T.V. I often find myself dreaming about being a female Rick Castle. I could even cope with being described as “ruggedly handsome”. sigh. The majority of writers have a day job, or, like me, have a very supportive, generous partner who thinks that one day I’m going to make it big so it’s worth the investment. (Stay deluded, darlin’.)
What drives us to keep setting ourselves up for failure? How many rejections do we take before we say, “I get the hint, I’ll stop now.”? I admit, every time I send the ms out into the cosmos I think: This is definitely the last time. When I get the “no, thanks” (and some don’t even say thanks!) I have a good cry, sulk for a day or two, and then – blow me down! – I send it out again. I’m either tough as old boots, or seriously neurotic with masochistic tendencies, or a bit of both. Come on universe, kick me one more time.
Of course I haven’t been sitting around waiting for the inevitable “yes”. I’ve been working: editing other people’s work; reading other people’s books; writing reviews while thinking: I’m not jealous, I’m not jealous…, and attempting to get articles and the occasional short story into a magazine. And, believe it or not, I’m working on another book. Yep, definitely masochistic. “You didn’t like that? Ok, here’s another one to throw back in my face…or, not.”
I’ve heard the story of how J.K.Rowling was rejected 7/9/14/23 times before the Potter books went global. Actually, I’ve heard it 7/9/23/ x-to-the-point-of-infinity times. I’ve read the Chicken Soup book, so I know how it goes. Those stories used to inspire me, several years and a couple of books ago, but now I think: yeah, well that was them and I’m me and never the twain shall meet. BUT, the thought that haunts me is: what if I stop one time short of success? Aargggggghhh! So, I re-read, re-write, search the internet for another possible taker, bundle it up in an enormous postal bag and send it out again. Hope springs eternal in a masochistic, neurotic, slightly delusional writer’s heart. Meanwhile, back to reading other people’s stuff. Some of it is brilliant. Some of it is pretty good. And some of it… well… sob…why? Why them and not me? It’s not fair! Dagnab it… I could just SCREAM…
Ok, everyone, let’s clear the room. Nothing to see here except a major tanty. Better leave now before she starts throwing things. Oh the humanity!