I wrote so fast, I was out of control for the past 13 years. I already had about eight books published but then realized (when the dust settled) I had a back-load of 10 novels, a nonfiction dinosaur book and a nonfiction chapter book. Then I got sick and it laid me up for nearly three years. During my recovery I knew for a fact that I best start selling and stop spaying ink all over the place. My agent couldn't keep up with me. The thing is, not any of those books received horrid numbers of rejections.
I just believed in that adage: "If your first book doesn't sell, write another, then another and then another." You know, it's like you're caught up in that fevered pitch that has you slamming keys for three to five months on the great American novel, but my case lasted for years. I went back into my sales and rejection files and counted 37 contract offers from small presses that my agent and I refused during an eight-year period. Counting things up in my head, like it takes an average of a year from a sale to final pub for a single book, the fact hit me that if I did sell everyone of them starting today, it's doubtful that I would live long enough to see them all in print! I might only see six or less in print.
Nine months ago, I told my agent, "the hell with it, let's dump 'em on the best offers/presses we can work with." So far, four books sold. I know that the rest of my writing life will be editing. It's great and everything, but kind of a sad reality.
noranne--I know the feeling, believe me. Keep your spirit and hopes up. You've been on a treadmill of rejections for a long time. Writers at your stage can really bust out and hit the major leagues. The last time I hit a major league publisher was 28 years ago. I've had/have three top gun agents for 15 of those years. I always wondered, what in the name of hell happened? Eh, the writing life is an enigma, wot?