Okay, so maybe she isn’t ugly…but she’s just not pretty enough.
Yep, I’ve been rejected. That book that I stressed over back in the Spring trying to rewrite has come back, unwanted and rejected, ugly and unloved.
Sob. Sigh. Whimper. Sniff.
I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t hurt. Of course it does. It hurts like hell. Rejection makes you want to crawl into the corner and sob. It’s frustrating. It’s demoralizing. It makes you question both your talent and your sanity.
And then you try again.
The Playfriends, my CP, Counselor Shelley and some Honorary Playfriends allowed me the weekend to wallow. As of Monday morning, they expected me back up and on the computer. The sympathy and cyber chocolate dry up after 48 hours, you know. After a weekend spent licking my wounds, I’m recovering. Now that the initial shock and horror have passed, I can look at the rejection letter beyond, “Thank you for submitting, but...”
You know what? There’s some comfort to be found in that rejection letter. Nowhere does the letter say, “You suck. Please find another hobby to occupy your time.” Instead, it said my writing was “quite engaging.” The letter was personal, giving me reasons why the book didn’t work (And none of them were, “You suck; please stop submitting to us”).
This book may have been rejected, but I wasn’t. I can submit something new. I don’t suck. An editor told me so.
I can live with that.
How do you deal with disappointment? Chocolate? Booze? Gut-wrenching sobs? Howling at the moon?