Over the past month, I’ve sent out about 30 queries for the first book in my new fantasy series, A Thief in the Castle. (It’s a working title.) So far, I’ve heard back from 16 of those agents. Guess what? Every one came back a rejection.
And I know, “A rejection from one is not a rejection from all.” But it feels like it is. I’ve spent so much time and energy on this novel, and I’m getting told that it’s not good enough, and it feels like agents are telling me that I’m not good enough. Each rejection is a stone that’s getting tossed on top of me, and I’m getting crushed.
And then, I remind myself that it’s been a month, some of those queries aren’t yet a week out there, and I’m panicking because I haven’t gotten the life-altering email requesting the full MS, a publishing deal, and a movie rights contract – it’s not happening fast enough. And here I am telling people to slow down, stay calm, and chill out. If only I could follow my own advice.
It’s hard to slow down. It’s hard to stay calm when you’re opening your email and that bud of anticipation is there, blooming too fast, and then your inbox loads and – nothing.
Or worse, the response is there and all you can see of it is “Dear Author…”
Or, worse yet, you see the email addressed with your name, followed by “Thanks for contacting me about…” and you eagerly click on the email only to find “…about your novel, but I’m afraid I’m going to pass. It’s just not what I’m currently looking for.”
Well, poo. There’s another in the “RJ” list.
And each rejection is pushing me a little further into the spiral of manic depression. I’m working on other projects to keep myself afloat, but it’s like waiting for something to jump out at you in a horror movie. It’s coming, but you don’t know when.