I wish my rejections came in old-fashioned letter form, like in the good ol’ days, so I could make a papier mache sculpture representing my despair. Working with my hands always makes me feel better.
Haha, it’s okay, I’m not actually despairing right now, but I have my moments. I know how the publishing industry works, how long it takes even for the most talented writers, that even J.K. Rowling got rejections up to her eyeballs. I know all that, but I still wake up sometimes with a weight on my chest and think, “It’s not going to happen. It’s just not going to happen.”
No two words are scarier than that pair up there, except maybe “land shark” or “I’m pregnant.”
Queries are the bane of every writer’s existence. If you’re comfortable with them, or even weirder, if you LIKE them, you are extremely lucky and also what’s the weather like on your planet? 😛
In their threadbare, fingerless gloves the two stories warmed their hands over the bin fire. The flames whipped about like those inflatable tube-men outside car dealerships and the stories were careful not to catch a swipe on their equally threadbare cuffs.
“How long’s it been for you, Fantasy Comedy?” asked one of the stories, blowing hot air on his knuckles.