I once confessed to a professor how intimidating it was to submit my writing. She gave me a long look and said, “Well, I think it’s fair to say that nothing was ever published that wasn’t sent out first.” There it was. In a nutshell. If you dreamed of publication, you had to send your work out. Intimidated or not.
Over the years, I have sent many things out–poems, short stories, essays, etc. Some of them have been published, some of them have not. In other words, I am well-versed in the language of rejection. You can’t be a writer and not be. (Well, maybe such writers exist, but I don’t know any of them.) It’s discouraging and brutal but then, something is accepted, and your dream is fed. You feel rejuvenated for awhile. But you never know which of your submissions will be rejected and which will be accepted. You just have to send things off and hope for the best. And, no matter what, you go back to your writing in the meantime.
Because it’s the writing–the act of writing–that makes us writers.
I don’t even know how to say this next part. But people keep telling me that I have to say it out loud. Forgive me for repeating–it’s been announced elsewhere (and thanks so much for the kind words in response!)–but here goes: Henery Press will be publishing my first mystery next year. Which still feels like a dream!
And now, back to writing.