Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
– Langston Hughes
Got an email from my agent. Only Yours has officially been rejected by every publisher. Every single one.
A year of submissions. A year of roller coaster emotions, wild hope, then hopelessness. Who wants to read about an REAL Christian girl with REAL struggles who may or may not make the right choices in the end? Certainly not the Christians. And certainly not the non-Christians. No audience. No sale. Another book, pushed, no SHOVED, maybe even kicked, under the proverbial bed.
On the one hand, I want to get back on that horse and show them. On the other hand, the odds against me seem almost insurmountable.
Right now I feel so many emotions. Sad, relieved, determined, tired. Nothing I can actually describe.
I’m sure the tears will come at 2am, when I’m wide awake, thinking of how much of a failure I am.
I know what you’re going to say. You’re not a failure. You’re going to make it. You have to keep trying. Keep believing. Keep focusing. JUST DO IT.
My dream is officially deferred.
Now what will become of it? Of me?