Woe is me indeed because today I had an email from an agent who was reading my full manuscript. Nothing can quite describe the feeling.
I'd been opening my email with trepidation for the last six weeks while waiting to hear from agents and then, today, there it was...
Of course my first thought was- oh no, not another rejection, but a tiny little treacherous part of my brain wondered if maybe, just maybe, this email might be the one I've been waiting and praying for, the one where an agent tells me how much they love my work and that they'd like to meet me and make all my dreams come true...
It wasn't. It was a very nice rejection, (if there is such a thing.) and my stomach sank into my boots, (metaphorical ones of course).I read it through again, and again but it still said the same thing. No.
So, I took a deep breath and then came the rationalising;
It wasn't personal.
It didn't mean I was a bad writer.
She wasn't the right agent for me.
Maybe I'll get lucky the next time.
And all of those things are true but it still hurts. It's still hard. It makes me wonder why I'm putting myself through this, why I keep trying, why I'm opening myself up repeatedly for pain and rejection ?? Surely it would be easier to just stop, give up, let it go.
After all how many people really have their dreams come true?
One in a hundred...a thousand...a million?
It's not the point is it because I can't give up.
I will try and try and try again like my mum told me to so many times when I was growing up.
I may still fail, that's life after all but at least I'll know it wasn't for the want of trying.