Good morning, Readers!
So... Hey. I'm freaking out a little bit. And starting this post a little late, The two are connected. How about I stop jumping around and start from the beginning, yes?
Alright. Here goes.
Ahem... I'm back in the querying game, as some of you might know. I had queried a person, then just never heard from them, so I queried someone else. Turns out, that second person wants a partial submission (the first 30 odd pages). Hence the freak out. Excuse me, I need to get this out of my system...
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Ahem.
I am late writing this blog post because I spent the morning preparing the submission. I'm not sure I did it correctly, and I'm really nervous. I'm trying very hard to play it cool, but after querying for another novel that was met only with stony silence or rejection, I'm finding it difficult. My face is a perfect mask of impassivity. In reality, however, I'm more like this:
So... Hey. I'm freaking out a little bit. And starting this post a little late, The two are connected. How about I stop jumping around and start from the beginning, yes?
Alright. Here goes.
Ahem... I'm back in the querying game, as some of you might know. I had queried a person, then just never heard from them, so I queried someone else. Turns out, that second person wants a partial submission (the first 30 odd pages). Hence the freak out. Excuse me, I need to get this out of my system...
AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Ahem.
I am late writing this blog post because I spent the morning preparing the submission. I'm not sure I did it correctly, and I'm really nervous. I'm trying very hard to play it cool, but after querying for another novel that was met only with stony silence or rejection, I'm finding it difficult. My face is a perfect mask of impassivity. In reality, however, I'm more like this:
Image courtesy of Imagur.com. Click for link.
I might vomit.
Now, of course, if history is anything to go by, the answer will be no. It is always no, and I have to prepare myself for this fact. Yet I cannot help but get excited, and scared, and nervous, and worried, and man... I am going to be sick.
Of course, all the horrible little thoughts that plague pretty much everyone are creeping their way in:
It's not good enough.
Why do I even bother?
I can't write.
What was I thinking?
She's going to hate it.
I hate it.
This sucks.
I'm never going to be picked up.
Gods, I feel sick.
This manuscript was almost picked up before. Objectively, I know it's a pretty good story. I have been told by people who have no stake in my success as a writer. Subjectively... Well, those voices are pretty damned strong.
And history is on their side, I might add. So while I'm hoping for a good outcome, I trying very hard to prepare myself for what I sometimes feel is inevitable: the dreaded rejection.
I'm also a little conflicted about sharing this with you. I might (and by 'might' I mean 'am') be a little superstitious and feel like I'm jinxing myself sharing this with the world. But I also want to share my journey with you, in all it's horribe swinging, mood enhancing, mood destroying, frustrating, joyful glory. It's the whole honesty thing I was talking about on Monday.
And also I will want a sympathetic ear when it comes time for weeping. So, I shall keep you abreast of this submission and the process as it happens and I will as a teeny tiny favour of you:
Send the universe well wishes on my behalf? I'm not certain it will work, but I need all the help I can get.
Well, I'm off to pretend to be learning Welsh. In reality, I'll be staring blankly at my computer screen, screaming internally.
Ciao!
Now, of course, if history is anything to go by, the answer will be no. It is always no, and I have to prepare myself for this fact. Yet I cannot help but get excited, and scared, and nervous, and worried, and man... I am going to be sick.
Of course, all the horrible little thoughts that plague pretty much everyone are creeping their way in:
It's not good enough.
Why do I even bother?
I can't write.
What was I thinking?
She's going to hate it.
I hate it.
This sucks.
I'm never going to be picked up.
Gods, I feel sick.
This manuscript was almost picked up before. Objectively, I know it's a pretty good story. I have been told by people who have no stake in my success as a writer. Subjectively... Well, those voices are pretty damned strong.
And history is on their side, I might add. So while I'm hoping for a good outcome, I trying very hard to prepare myself for what I sometimes feel is inevitable: the dreaded rejection.
I'm also a little conflicted about sharing this with you. I might (and by 'might' I mean 'am') be a little superstitious and feel like I'm jinxing myself sharing this with the world. But I also want to share my journey with you, in all it's horribe swinging, mood enhancing, mood destroying, frustrating, joyful glory. It's the whole honesty thing I was talking about on Monday.
And also I will want a sympathetic ear when it comes time for weeping. So, I shall keep you abreast of this submission and the process as it happens and I will as a teeny tiny favour of you:
Send the universe well wishes on my behalf? I'm not certain it will work, but I need all the help I can get.
Well, I'm off to pretend to be learning Welsh. In reality, I'll be staring blankly at my computer screen, screaming internally.
Ciao!
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