Thursday, January 14, 2010
This is one of those days when it stinks to be a writer. Got one rejection; got another who said the story I sent wasn't contemporary enough for their anthology, but could they have it for their e-zine? Payment: a copy of a future magazine.
I want to cry. I want to rant, but would just be self-pitying and accomplish nothing--and isn't fair to the agent or editor who wrote me. I'm not mad at them; they're doing their jobs to the best of their ability, and are very kind besides. I just want to know what secret ingredient I'm missing that will get my work in paying magazines and on the shelves of B&N. I am arrogant to think I'm good enough--but am I really so wrong?
I'll keep at it. Write. Polish. Submit. Repeat. I love what I'm doing, and I love my characters. In the meantime, I'll keep hoping the secret--or the bit of luck--will come my way.
But now, I'm going to walk the dog then come home and write about zombies. That should cheer me up.