Despite the full and irregular schedule of my day job, I’ve completed the recommended changes to my novel. That should be a cause for happiness. For some reason, though, I’ve been avoiding the actual submission process. That is obviously an issue.
Even sending it to the same agent who made the recommendations (the current plan) seems worrisome. There seems to be an actual fear of the submission. Sure, the worst she can say is no, but I think that particular no can hit with more weight than I want to feel.
It’s as though there is a dark blotch of despair lurking in the farthest borders of my mind. It circles the hope I’ve attached to the novel. It senses the possibility of death for that hope. If I get another rejection, I fear the despair will dive fast and rip the hope to shreds.
Of course, I’m not actually that susceptible to any long-term anguish. A rejection would bring disappointment, but I’m a big boy and can handle it. MY old writer’s group used to joke that you couldn’t really understand being a writer until you could wallpaper your office with rejection letters. It just comes with the territory.
For now, I’m going to chalk it up to the extra stress and exhaustion of the day job. I’ll put the submission process on an actual to-do list; I tend to actually accomplish those tasks. Before too long, the manuscript will be on its way. If it doesn’t sell, I’ll make changes and try again. At some point, one of my other writings will be ready for the same process and I’ll start that one out as well. As long as I enjoy the writing process itself, I’m good.
It would be nice to sell something, though.