No posting. No Illustration Friday. No fun. Until after Prairie Writer's day.
Okay, maybe not no fun, but I do feel like I've been chained to my computer, and not because I am in the middle of a great story or revisions.
I haven't digested everything yet. I haven't even gone through my folder. (Ah, those days when I read through the folder when I arrived.) However, I am sensing that there was something special about this year. Maybe it is just wishful thinking or maybe I am always looking to have a supernatural experience, but something definitely weird happened yesterday. Dare I say it? An omen.
I have to say my emotions have been on a bit of a roller coaster lately, and half the day, I was deciding to quit the whole "trying to be published" thing. It would be wonderful to be able to share my writing but trying to sell my work is so unnatural to me, so hard and uncomfortable, that it becomes depressing and interferes with my writing. I don't have time to waste these days, so, though I would love to see something in print, I can't let it consume me. The whole day I was thinking to myself, "Just do your thing. Don't worry about about publishing it." Luckily, I was busy, so mostly I was working in the moment and not fretting.
I arrived home last night to an empty house, exhausted, and waiting for me was a letter from a publisher. I knew it at once because it was my handwriting on the return envelope. Right now, if you are a writer, you may doubt this story, because so few publishers even ask for return envelopes anymore, but you are just going to have to trust me. Anyway, I was a little disbelieving myself, because I couldn't remember the last time I had enclosed a self-addressed envelope. It also meant that it was a rejection.
You might be holding out a hope that I was wrong, at this point. I know I was. However, most of my brain was assuming it was an editor from PWD 2009, who, looking at the calendar, decided to get nagging promises (like to respond to attendees) from last year off their desk (or shelf, or floor).
Alas, I was partially correct. It was a rejection. The strange thing about it was that it was from a submission that I had made well over a year ago, to an editor I'd heard in New York (SCBWI Winter Conference 2008). I had completely given up hope on this one. Decided it was lost in the slush or just not of interest. However, the comment was "not right for our list," rather than "keep your day job" and (I know I am grasping at straws here) the really wonderful thing is that she asked for more work and to write "requested material" on the envelope.
The day it came, the unlikely-hood of ever hearing from this person, the tinge of silver lining on the rejection--it's an omen. I'm sure. Okay, kinda sure. Yeah, maybe she just felt guilty that she hadn't responded in so long, so she's giving me another shot. It did run through my head.
But I prefer to look at it as an omen of hope.
