A little bit ago I got an e-mail from the acquisitions editor of the small, local press I'd submitted my novel to months and months ago.
This is what it said:
After much consideration, we've decided this ms. is not right for us. However, we wish you the best of luck in placing it elsewhere.
Well. Ah-yah. And so forth. I've been rejected by far bigger publishing houses than this one! Yeah! I will survive! Oh yes I will!
And yes, and so forth once again.
It's funny though, that this rejection struck me hard. It really did. I mean, I sincerely had no hope. They only publish like one novel a year. But still. It did. It hit and it hurt.
But here's the funny thing- I suddenly feel just like I did last summer. Anxious as hell. As if I'd been informed of a diagnosis of a dread disease in a loved one. I'll be going about my business, transferring chicks, planting seeds, taking a shower, getting ready for rehearsal and I'll realize I have this nagging oh-my-god-something's-very-wrong feeling inside.
Which I find very interesting and informative and I need to think about that and learn from it what I can.
I do acknowledge that to me, this book is a sure-fired, born-from-my-own-loins baby of my own. It may not be any damn good at all, but it's a child of mine, and took years of labor and delivery.
And this e-mail is not unlike a doctor saying, "Well, maybe someone can save your kid but it's not going to be me."
Now don't get me wrong. I KNOW the difference between flesh and blood and pen and paper. As it were. But still, you do somehow give birth to a book. It's true.
So. I'm going to be proactive with this. I'm going to figure out how to do something with it. Maybe I'll put it up on a blog, ten pages at a time and put a Pay-Pal button up too. If people like it and want to give me a buck every chapter or so- great! If not, read it for free. Or, just don't read it if you don't like it. No risk involved.
Except once again, I'll be risking something. Not expense. Just my ego. My small and very-slowly developing sense of self-worth as a writer.
Lots to think about here.
Any thoughts? I'm asking you because you're the people who read me. Who take the time to click on my blog and read it and maybe even comment, maybe even e-mail me. So if you have any ideas or thoughts, please, I'm begging you- send them along in the comments or in an e-mail.
In the meantime, I'm trying to remember why I'm feeling anxious and let it go. This is not the end of the world. Someone very wise said to me the other day, "The only thing that's the end of the world is the end of the world."
And as far as I can tell, the world is still turning.
And I am churning. A bit.