One more rejection, another disappointment

I awoke Francesca to check my email and found a new message in my inbox from one of the agents I queried yesterday. He said my work wasn’t the best fit for him, that taking on a client has to do with an agent’s preferences along with the author’s writing abilities.

Basically, it was a brief, one paragraph long rejection letter.

But again, it was just the one rejection letter. I’ve sent out four more queries to four other agencies. Also, to be honest, he wasn’t my first biggest choice for an agent. The one I really want is one of the first three agents I queried, and I’m looking forward to hearing from her within three weeks to about four months at the most.

It’s kind of like the Tom Petty song, the waiting is the hardest part. In the self help book that I’m reading, which has a gigantic spine and about 600 pages, the author says that patience is kind of like a form of meditating. If we don’t have enough patience, we tend to build up stress in our lives, and patience is part of being more mindful and optimistic about the universe.

I’m trying to get back into the habit of being more mindful of everything. I took a very revitalizing walk to the library today because I felt I needed the exercise and it would help calm me. (But since there was stupid construction on the road, there were constant road signs blocking the sidewalk. I was very upset at the construction workers putting road signs in my way, telling drivers to merge into one lane– just do your effing construction work at 1 a.m. when no one is driving!) Sadly, the walk couldn’t even keep me calm for more than 20 minutes because I had to dodge the “Lane Closed 1000 feet” signs without going into the street and getting killed by a moron in the driver’s seat.

Having a mental illness takes a beating out of you. It makes me very tired. And when you’re writing a novel while you have one, rejection from agents or publishers just drains you.

This painting is sitting right above me as I’m typing this post. I like how it says, “FREE: The ability to think out loud and DREAM”

I know one other person who is a writer and has a mental illness and diabetes on top of it. He also spent almost two years being homeless. Now he’s working on three books and hoping that he’ll get published like me, only with writing in different genres of fiction and nonfiction.

I’m hoping that with the handful of queries I sent out last week and this weekend, I’ll at least get one person to say yes. I’m not giving up. Not yet.

-The Lady in the Blue Box

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