In an earlier post, I talked about the trouble I had declaring myself a writer. I actually got very interesting feedback on the topic, and I appreciate everyone’s comments. Today, however, I believe I may have finally crossed the threshold to counting myself among the masses (and masses) who call themselves “writers” – I’ve been rejected.
I’m not sulking about it or pouting (although I do make a mean duck face), but I am disappointed. I’m not totally naive; I’ve read enough about writing and writers to know how many famous authors and classic books were rejected (in some cases many, many times) before finding success. Still, there was a tiny voice in my head that would whisper to me…Your novella is that good. It’s going to be accepted by the very first publisher you submit it to.
Alas, it wasn’t. I know it’s just one publisher, but I can’t completely block out the much louder voice in my head, the voice of self doubt :
Was the title catchy enough?
Did they even read the whole thing?
Maybe my first sentence/paragraph/chapter/quarter/third/half wasn’t catchy enough.
Maybe they didn’t like the ending.
Maybe they didn’t like the short synopsis I submitted.
Maybe they didn’t like my blog.
I don’t know; can’t know. All I can do is what all writers do – just keep writing. I have a second novella that’s is nearing the end of the never ending hell that is the revision process, and I’m 33k words into my work in progress. The world keeps turning, life goes on. Back to work.