For the past 18 months I've felt like I'm on the verge of making a breakthrough. I've had many requests for partials, a few for fulls...but the answer is always "no." One agent said, "this just doesn't sing." Others say they like my ideas and find my writing engaging, but they're not going to take me on. "I do hope you'll continue with this" another said.
WTF?????!!!!!???
I'm long past the point of being encouraged by this. In the past 11 years I've finished five novels, each one better than the last, but I feel like I'm at the end of my rope. I'm losing faith in myself, and my persistence is just about all gone. I'm sorely tempted to write back to those few agents who are currently sitting on my work, and asking them to remove me from their slush pile. That tiny, little spark of hope that has sustained me through all these years is starting to burn. It hurts. It just frelling hurts, and I'm sick of it. I've been chasing this dream for my entire life, but I'm afraid that I'm just not quite good enough to make the final cut, that I don't have the mental toughness to keep going against all odds.
I've quit twice before, but I eventually came back to this futile quest I'm on. I'm ready to quit for a third time, hoping that this one is the charm. This dream of being published is quickly becoming an albatross around my neck. To be this close and constantly told no, to see so many others get the nod while I'm left out in the cold...this is torture. I feel like a donkey chasing after a carrot dangling before me, a carrot that I will never, ever taste. I'm ready to say frak that carrot, I've had it.
Anybody else feel this way? These aren't your garden variety rejection blues I'm talking about. This is the black pit of total despair I'm looking at.
WTF?????!!!!!???
I'm long past the point of being encouraged by this. In the past 11 years I've finished five novels, each one better than the last, but I feel like I'm at the end of my rope. I'm losing faith in myself, and my persistence is just about all gone. I'm sorely tempted to write back to those few agents who are currently sitting on my work, and asking them to remove me from their slush pile. That tiny, little spark of hope that has sustained me through all these years is starting to burn. It hurts. It just frelling hurts, and I'm sick of it. I've been chasing this dream for my entire life, but I'm afraid that I'm just not quite good enough to make the final cut, that I don't have the mental toughness to keep going against all odds.
I've quit twice before, but I eventually came back to this futile quest I'm on. I'm ready to quit for a third time, hoping that this one is the charm. This dream of being published is quickly becoming an albatross around my neck. To be this close and constantly told no, to see so many others get the nod while I'm left out in the cold...this is torture. I feel like a donkey chasing after a carrot dangling before me, a carrot that I will never, ever taste. I'm ready to say frak that carrot, I've had it.
Anybody else feel this way? These aren't your garden variety rejection blues I'm talking about. This is the black pit of total despair I'm looking at.