The past month has been brutal. I've had three different book proposals rejected, along with a couple of essays, a few stories, and a poem. In short, no one wants to read, much less publish, what I write. So all I have is this lousy blog. Well, but I'm not complaining. It's something.
What makes a rejection difficult to take, however, is when it comes from those who have previously published your writing. In essence, the rejection then feels like a jilt, as if the woman you love has left you standing at the altar holding a ream of paper. "Hey," you scream, "aren't you going to read this?"
She just walks away while, perhaps, giving you the finger. That's what it feels like.
But I'm not defeated. I won't be. No . . . tonight I'm sitting down at 9 p.m. and beginning a brand new proposal. I'll crank out another one. Proposals are like buses and taxis. There's always another one out there. You just have to know where to look.
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