I can hardly stand it any longer. It's tortuous, day and night. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop dreaming about it. I actually have devised a world in which I cannot escape. I would love to have someone else consider my novel genius and offer to publish it for me... sure! But the chances of that actually happening are so slim I can hardly stand to think about the possibility anymore. What should I do? Well, the simplest thing to do would be to forget about it entirely. And believe me... I've tried.
I am literally haunted though by my book. It occupies a great deal more of my thoughts than I would like to admit. I love my characters, so much that it's agonizing to have to keep them secret. I want to share my story, for it is my story that I tell. I've written simply a fantastical morph of the life that I've seen, with some embellishment (if you know me, you see already I am so good at that in real life).
This is a rant and nothing more. But I honestly can't stand the way my book stalks me. It will be something I will always love. I know that. But until I can share it, I don't think I'll ever be able to just let go. (I already know that's what a lot of people expect me to do. They think because I'm young that this is a phase. It is no phase. They are polite sure, but most (even many in my family) don't really believe I have a shot at the presses. And maybe they're right...)
Discouraged? Yes, but mainly because I recently received a rejection note saying this agent just wasn't drawn to the sample pages she requested. She dismissed me through boredom. I'm just trying to rebound now. I really do feel like one of those old single women who at the age of sixty nine lives with twenty cats. I'm talking about the women who always put themselves out there, but are constantly rejected. No one wants them. That's what it feels like to be in the "slush pile" (another idiotic agent/author/publisher/writing world term). Goodnight, America!!