When do you give up? Throw in the towel and admit defeat? I came dangerously close this week. For seven months, I’ve been revising and submitting my finished manuscript to agents and contests. Seven months that was the center of my world. And all I received are rejections. Kind rejections. But rejections.
It’s enough to drive a person batty. Every time an agent requested the full, I got so excited at the possibility and then a month or two later the rejection email came. I received five in Italy. And no matter how professional you are or how prepared you think you are. They hurt. They burrow under your skin like a bee’s stinger. And then the poison spreads.
You start to question yourself. Doubt your ability. Wonder if you really have any worth as a writer. Sure friends and beta readers liked the story, but maybe it’s not publishable. Never going to see the light of day. Maybe this entire endeavor was a complete waste of time.
And of course, you can imagine, that thought really bums me out. Because I’m an uber time conscious person. If I think something will not work out, I don’t waste time on it. It’s pointless. Were the past 7 months pointless?! Shit.
So now I’ve worked myself into quite a meltdown. It pervaded most of my trip. This feeling of being lost. Of not knowing what I was doing.
And I felt, well, hopeless.
I’m a planner. I need a route plotted out for me with an end goal. Otherwise, I can’t seem to get out of bed in the morning.
So I decided to go back to what I love doing. Writing. March will be the month I finish drafting my adult novel. I’ve got 15K words to go until it’s done. So I’m switching gears and making that the focus. Then I’ll edit it this summer.
And I’ll keep sending the YA manuscript to agents and editors, but it won’t be the center of my world anymore.
So I’m not giving up. But giving in and accepting that there is a time and place for everything. And you cannot make things happens. But maybe they will.