Over the last year, I’ve begun receiving rejections. Not that I had an oh-look-at-me-I-had-everything-I-ever-wanted kind of life, but more like I took-the-safe-path-by-not-putting-myself-out-there kind of life.
Well, I’m out there now.
Other publishers regret to inform me they will not be accepting my work for publication, but wish me much success in finding the right publisher.
I know I do.
I write because I can’t not write. I write even if no one ever publishes my work.
We have a long-standing relationship, a thirty-year relationship built on fond memories and late-night study sessions, culminating with a liberal arts degree I’m willing to pretend helped get me to this point. I hoped Baylor would be proud of her own enough to consider publication, maybe even claiming an inkling of credit.
In a response one step from blanket blogger spam, Baylor thanked me for my submission yet felt my farm novella wasn’t a good fit for its list… Baylor publishes history and cultural works—my book is about cotton farming—not historical nor cultural enough…
Whew! I feel better:) Back to writing…
Check out my friend’s blog post Facing Our Fears. We wrote about the same topic on the same day…