Alright. So after some good, hardy laughs that only Stephen Colbert can evoke, I am ready to admit to defeat. This evening I received a rejection for one of my first manuscripts, Dinos and Trucks. While I am not devastated, I must say, I am quite grumpy. And while I consider myself a mostly, mature person, I did kinda have the urge to throw a silent tantrum in response to the news. I quickly regained composure and thought how I could better handle the situation and then it was off to the fridge to sneak some carrot cake! As I licked the frosting off my fingers to get the most out of the experience, I realized that this is the tradition I owe myself after each rejection. No silent tantrums, just silent fridge-raids! Usually I would feel guilty about such behavior, but don't I owe it to myself?
A rejection of one's writing is like a rejection of one's soul. Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but close. You are putting yourself out there, exposing your thoughts and what you think is your best writing. To have a professional say they aren't "feeling your writing" brings out that inner child who just wants approval and to be told they are good at something that they love to do. Along with my new and exciting fridge-raid tradition, I am going to make and effort to send off a manuscript each time I receive a rejection. By sending another piece out (which was a genius coping mechanism of another author- although not as delicious as mine), I will be creating another sense of hope, as delusional as it might be, that my work is out there in the universe and will someday be picked up by someone? Anyone? Hello? Hmph.