The Agony of Rejection, and Picking Oneself Up

I know the writers whose books I buy had a ton of rejections before anyone offered them agent representation or a publishing contract.

I know this. It still sucks.

Today I got another one, from an agent I had allowed myself a glimmer of hope for.  Ah well.

Man, it stings. I can’t help but look at myself and say “Dude, you went to VP.  And for two years since then it’s all rejections.  You suck.” But I know that guy.  He’s the same stupid bastard who’s been shit-talking me since I was a kid.

He’s an asshole.  And he’s also an idiot.  Because I still have options.

It’s time to look over this query, polish the pages and synopsis, and keep going.

I don’t have nearly enough rejections to quit now.

Published by Michael R. Johnston

Father of an eighth grader, high school English teacher, writer. Fifty years old and feeling almost every bit of it on some days, and not a bit of it on others. Based in Sacramento, California, USA

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