The Agony of Rejection, and Picking Oneself Up

I know the writers whose books I buy had a ton of rejections before anyone offered them agent representation or a publishing contract.

I know this. It still sucks.

Today I got another one, from an agent I had allowed myself a glimmer of hope for.  Ah well.

Man, it stings. I can’t help but look at myself and say “Dude, you went to VP.  And for two years since then it’s all rejections.  You suck.” But I know that guy.  He’s the same stupid bastard who’s been shit-talking me since I was a kid.

He’s an asshole.  And he’s also an idiot.  Because I still have options.

It’s time to look over this query, polish the pages and synopsis, and keep going.

I don’t have nearly enough rejections to quit now.

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About Michael Johnston

Father of a third grader, high school English teacher, writer. Forty-three years old and feeling almost every bit of it on some days, and not a bit of it on others. Based in Sacramento, California, USA
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