Here’s the text of the e-mail I just got:
Thanks so much again for sharing your revised manuscript with me. As you know, I’ve been on the lookout for a cult-themed literary novel, so I was excited to dive into The Cabin. While I found elements of the cult fascinating, I didn’t feel that Josh and many of the secondary characters would be relatable enough to the average teen reader. Also, I worried that the third person narration felt overly removed, at time, and that the pacing wasn’t quite quick enough for our readership.
Given these concerns, I don’t feel that I’m the right editor for this project. I do wish you the best of luck in finding a publishing home for The Cabin.
So I give up.
Just kidding, although it’s hard to stay motivated.
No, scratch that. Trying to stay motivated is like pushing through a pool filled with sticky, tepid oatmeal. Hmmm, maybe that still doesn’t capture the feeling here.
How about: Rejections are nails that are being hammered by my self-doubt into the coffin of me as a writer. Yeah, that’s more like it.
It’s particularly disappointing because I had found a back door to get this manuscript off to this editor. Plus, she was looking for a YA book with my subject matter. Plus, I’m naive and probably don’t do enough work before I send things off.
No, not ‘oh well.’
Bring it on.
I can write. I can tell stories. I just had two story ideas come to me this week. I have stories to tell and I can tell them well. I can learn to tell them better and I can sell them and live as a writer. I can and I freaking, ever-loving, darn-tooting, for the love of all that’s good and right WILL!
If I said swear words, that previous sentence would have read like a sailor who just stepped on the crustiest, sharpest barnacle.
I have to do some work now, but that’s my update. I am going to put together a concrete writing schedule.
Do you realize (all six of you reading this (hey, that’s up from 3)) how hard it is to make time to write? Five kids, all of them fun, my wife translating, bread needing to be made along with other household chores, and then exercising… not to mention a job that sucks the energy out of me… all combine to make it tough. Just thought I’d mention that. Just so… you know… pity.
No, keep your pity. Let it turn into fury and turn that fury and passion into a kick-a## story.
Lay off my somnium.