Long time no post.
Yes, I have been horrible about blogging lately. I blame my level of stress, and Thanksgiving vacation. I went to Gatlinburg, Tennessee with family I haven’t seen in three years. Needless to say, I had a great time.
Anyways, something else happened over break; I got my first rejection letter. I didn’t know what to expect to feel when my first rejection inevitably came, but I sure didn’t think I would be excited. I thought it might feel like a mixture of depression and frustration, like my writing or story wasn’t good enough. But it didn’t. It felt great. Honestly, it was the most exciting thing that could have happened, aside from an email asking to read the full manuscript.
Why was it exciting? I guess it signified that I am officially trying to become an author. I could write novels on my computer until I’m eighty, but nothing could ever become of them. Rejection or not, it means I’ve started.
I’ve decided I want to collect my rejections. I want to look back at how long this journey took when my dream is realized. I vow to take each rejection as encouragement to try harder, and to never give up. I encourage all of you to do the same.
Don’t be afraid to submit your story, because rejection is an exciting motivator. Nearly every book is rejected before it’s published. It’s a long road. You have to have a thick skin and a positive attitude if you’re going to make it.
But aside from the rejection letter, I’m in mourning. One of my favorite shows (I’ve watched some 30+ of them) is ending. BBC’s Merlin has decided to call season five it’s last. I’m devastated. Between Merlin ending, and the final Twilight movie being released it seems the only thing I have left to cling to is the Hobbit movies. So if you know any great TV shows/books/movies that fall under the Fantasy/Horror/Sci-Fi/Paranormal genre please let me know. I might already know of it, but I might not.
Still waiting, and honestly I think waiting is the hardest part. Since I haven’t posted in a while, I’ll repeat that I’m waiting for a response on a query letter I sent out. I expect to be politely turned down, or, even worse in my opinion, never accepted or rejected but totally ignored, hope in the form of an email left forever floating unresponded to in cyberspace. But I’m not about to mope around complaining about not getting my rejection letter, there are still a few weeks left for it to appear happily turning me down in my inbox.
Anyways, there are more important things to talk about than my query letter, take Sandy for example. Frakenstorm, the one for the records and the books, killed at least 80 (may they rest in peace), taking the East Coast by storm (excuse the poorly used pun). Thankfully, Sandy didn’t hurt anyone I know, which is saying something since I’ve lived in four states. It did shut down the businesses and schools for my cousins, and turn my skies grey and windy, but no one or houses were hurt. For those who did have family, friends, or your yourself involved, my prayers and sympathies go out to you. I wish I could offer more, but words are all I can give.
My life, on the other hand, took a surprising turn today. I was (not feeling too great I should add) trying to get my Lemon Snapple from the fridge. I open the door, and a shelf falls at my feet. I’m sure it was just so honored to see me standing before it, it jumped off it’s hinges and smashed its contexts onto the floor for me. That or it was really mad about carrying so many glass bottles and had given up. Either way, I suddenly found myself looking down at rolling lime juice bottle, a mayonnaise jar, some ketchup packets from McDonalds, and a pickle jar which had decided to shatter open and scattered itself across the floor. I scanned for my Snapple glass and it had somehow survived the drop to the tile floor below. The Pillsbury biscuits weren’t so fortunate. The raw biscuits had been packaged into one of those long metal tube, but the top had popped off and white soft doe was spilling out like a battle wound.
My mom came into the room after that, the familiar look of terror on her face, “Are you ok?” Is always her first question, “What did you break this time?” Is always her second; she asks them both before I can answer either. After that little routine was over and done, I explained how the shelf, suddenly taking on a life of it’s own, fell at my feet. It turns out I was almost right, the shelf had snapped apart and was waiting to spring on the first person who ordered the door. My mom frowned and left to order a new one, this story not being what she expected, and I started to pick the large shards of glass from the pickle juice on the floor. It was around this time my sister plodded into the room, late as usual to a scene were work is involved. After seeing the now small and green pool on the floor of a kitchen, which was starting to smell horribly but unsurprisingly like pickle juice, she started to help.
We shut out small dogs up in a bathroom, and used a ratty towel to seep up the pungent juice on the floor. Then I vacuumed it up (twice), and mopped it. After we were sure the glass was gone, the dogs had been released back into the house, and the new shelf ordered, we sprayed clearer on the floor. Now, my the nice tile kitchen floor smells like lemons and pickles, and it smells as nice as it sounds.