WARNING: Writer complaining ahead. Do not proceed if you are sick of hearing writers complain.
Some days are just out to get you. I came home last night to three–count ’em, three–rejection notices. One for a poetry chapbook and two for my graphic novel.
For the graphic novel, I’ve now received seventeen rejection notices. Seventeen. Most of them are form rejections, but there are a few personal responses that have been very kind–and yet still rejections, of course. And then there are the real gut-punches, like one I received last night. The publisher of this erotic book company had been so excited by my proposal at first that she’d e-mailed me personally to tell me she was presenting my project at an editorial meeting… and then she stopped communicating with me. For eight months. I e-mailed twice to politely inquire if there had been any changes. Nothing. And then last night her assistant sent me a form rejection letter.
Sometimes being a person who makes things is hard. Sometimes I think I should stop writing and be one of those people who consumes things instead. Just go to work and come home and make dinner and not have a thousand and five deadlines to meet or submissions to send out or pages of edits to finish. Just watch some TV and paint my nails and scroll through my tumblr feed.
But jeez. TV is not that good, and tumblr is annoying as shit. And I don’t make enough money to go out with friends more instead. And hell, I don’t even like people.
Back to submitting…