Rejection fucking sucks.

There, I said it.

It comes in a hundred forms and sometimes we can brush it off and sometimes it eats at our whole morning like a small little knife digging itself slowly into one’s heart. Causing coffee to spill all over fresh clothes and a book, for breakfast to burn, and for other small things to feel larger, which truly shouldn’t matter at all.

This morning was the later.

In the writing world, I know that rejection is part of the game. But it was the loss of hope I haven’t manage to overcome yet. Hope that I’ve held onto for nearly five months. Hope that with one email vanished and left me feeling incredibly hurt.

I’ve received probably close to 175 rejections over the last four years and several books. Honestly, I’ve taken them all in stride. I’m the voice of reason my writer friends want to hear when they are dealing with their own rejections. Look for the positives. Can we learn from it? There’s always next time. It’s only one person’s opinion. But damn if this morning didn’t suck in the worst kind of way.

There’s a part of me that wanted to believe this was it. This book is my golden ticket. I can feel it in my bones, this is the book that’s going to make a name for myself. And while “there was so much to love” it still feels like baring my soul to someone only for them to look me over and decide I’m not quite worth the effort.

Yep, I’m being an emotional narcissist this morning. But you know what, I think that once in a while it’s okay. It’s okay to feel hurt and to feel rejected. It’s okay to feel my feelings, especially if it allows me to move through them and start again fresh.  So to all my writer friends in the trenches, know you’re not alone. There are a lot of us here and one day with any luck, we’ll find ourselves in a different kind of trench. One made of deadlines instead.

Blah to today,

M