Erin Lodes

At the start of this week I had planned to write a blog post about the reasons why I am keeping up this blog. But then something happened. I got another rejection. Which means I’m in double digits now. 10. I’ve gotten 10 form rejections so far.

And yeah, I know the score now stands:

Rejections: 10
Partials Requested: 1

I get that that’s not insignificant. I get that that’s actually amazing. I get that that’s more than some writers ever get. I get that the agent with my partial may still get back to me and ask for the whole damn thing and love it and it will be great. I get that. (Jesus the number of “that’s” is making my eyes bleed but I’m not fucking taking them out because I like the way they sound and just really right now I am in a fuck-it mood.)

I know all the things you’re thinking because I’m beating myself over the head with them. That’s not a lot of rejections. There are plenty more agents to submit to. This is how the game is played. You knew what you were signing up for. So-and-so famous author had a bajillion rejections and now everyone knows their name. Have some confidence in the book you worked your ass off to write. Chin up buttercup.

I know. I fucking know. And maybe tomorrow, telling myself all those things will help. But right now, it sucks.

It really sucks.

And it sucks for all the reasons you think it does. Because rejection of any kind hurts. Because that constant worry in the back of my head that this book will never be published and I’m not really that good of a writer and I won’t ever get to share my stories with the world, blah blah blah, is louder right now than it was before I got this rejection. Because I worked really hard on this book and I really want people to love it as much as I do.

And then, of course — and I hate to even type this — there’s that tiny, microscopic part of me that thought I would be different. I wouldn’t go through the traditional drowning in rejections before *maybe* getting an agent. People would love my query and my writing and my book. And it would happen right away. I would be the exception to the rule.

Stupid, I know. But no matter how hard I’ve tried to shut that freaking voice up, it’s still there. All my realism and pragmatism and research and statistics and telling myself I would wear my rejections as a badge of honor or print them out and nail them to the wall like Stephen King. Like when I made it I could look back and be like look at all the hell I made it through to get here. But the thing is you have to make it first.

And right now, I’ve submitted another query. And I just want to go eat pizza and drink wine. Because it sucks. It sucks to submit and wait and get rejected. And you can prepare yourself all you want for what it’s going to feel like, but until you’re actually living in it, you’re not in it.

So just let me tell you. It sucks.

And I don’t have the energy — in the midst of all the shit on fire in the world — to put on a brave face right now.

So leave me to my wine. I’ll be brave tomorrow.

How I Published My Novel is going to be an ongoing blog series detailing how I get this freaking thing published. I know, I know, you could probably tell that from the title… I’ve gotten to this point (and am still getting help from) the amazing John Adamus, who is my writing coach.

If you haven’t already, check out Part One of How I Finished My Novel, and start from the beginning of this story.