When I first quit my job and began writing, a family friend said to me, “But are you going to be able to deal with the rejection?”
I suppose my answer in the affirmative seemed too glib, because she followed up saying, “I don’t think you realize how hard it’s going to be.”
She was right.
I’ve written about rejection before and probably will again. As I’m learning with ever more force, it’s an inescapable staple of the publishing world.
Like many writers, I cling to the anthropomorphism of my work as a living, breathing extension of myself. In this context, it’s difficult not to take dismissal personal. My most blissful moments are those between send and reply when I’m free to fantasize the agent I’ve queried seated in front of her computer, enraptured by my words. Then comes the polite turndown. Continue reading
I no longer shop the junior’s section at Macy’s. I’ve forgone Forever 21 in favor of the sale rack at Ann Taylor. I tune into HGTV instead of the CW and prefer a sleek, quiet lounge to a bumping night club.
But I still read young adult (YA) novels.
It doesn’t matter that the heroines are half my age; I love the urgency of the story lines, the untempered emotional lives of the characters, and the easily digestible themes. Continue reading
My husband has a weakness for bad movies. You know the type—hardcore action flicks without a hint of plot or wit (the kind a monkey could write). My trick to surviving the deluge of cinematic garbage he drags me to? Low expectations.
Unfortunately, I do just the opposite with books, inflating my expectations beyond reason and attainment. Such was the case with March. Continue reading