Dang

how I feel

how I feel

Yesterday I got an email from my agent. That’s always a bad sign. She calls when there’s good news. She had a response for my novel. Here it is.

“Tracey is certainly a talented author, and I appreciated the chance to see this story.  But ultimately, it just didn’t grab me as much as I’d hoped.  It felt a bit too quiet and familiar to me, and the protagonist’s voice didn’t stand out as much as I would have liked.  So, with regret, I am going to have to pass on this opportunity.  But I would be happy to consider more of her work in the future.”

As a rejection slip, it’s a nice one. But it does not hurt less. I am wholly bummed.

There is a lot I could say, like, I poured out my insides for this novel and isn’t that what you’re supposed to do so how come it didn’t work? Or, If I’m so talented why won’t you publish this story? Or, I give up! Or, Clearly this isn’t the career for me. Or even @!&*%!!

But I won’t. My friends and my mom were very supportive with their calls and emails. It’s handy, makes me laugh. My mother always invokes the almighty Rowling any time I suffer a setback, which is both sweet and misguided and also irritating as hell.

So today, instead of wallowing, I’m going to try to get some work done. I have pages on my desk that aren’t going to proof themselves. At least my non-fiction career doesn’t suck.

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