I get it that agents don't have to tell my WHY they have concluded that theirs is not the right agency to represent my work. I'd really very much like to know why. But I don't get to find out. If they explained it to every rejected writer, they'd never get anything else done. I get that.
I understand that all of us unpublished writers face piles of rejections. I know it's not just me. Part of the learning process. I totally get it.
Even though I really respect that agency, it is not the only agency out there. I get that.
What I'm not getting right now, not understanding, not fully grasping at this point, right now, is...
What am I going to do tomorrow?
I mean, obviously, get up, eat, take a pill, feel queasy, read for an hour, then get up and get in the truck... drive to the Little Valley, saddle up big Bo. I'll ride the Level 4 pattern, repeating parts of it until they improve. I'll clean up the barn, scrub some bridles and blankets, pull some weeds in the sand ring. Then I'll go home and harass the kids to help pull weeds in the back garden.
Life goes on. Do something I love to do.
But what I really mean is... what now?
I'm not going to give up on this book, or on writing in general. Like, okay, that agency's a no-go. I'll just have to try some others.
The way I see it, I got a few options.
-take another necessary look at the query letter, clarify a few things, cut a few more things, and make it all match up at the end.
-write a "jacket flap" for my book. Pretend it's a real book now and this is what it'll say on the inside flaps of the book jacket. They can't put it on the back because that's where they'll put the big photo of me in my denim and John Deere T shirt and magnificent hair and sneaky teeth leaning on a page wire fence. Write the blurb like readers will be looking at it for the first time in a bookstore. Make them want to read it.
-Read my own book. As if I'd never seen it before.
-play tetris (I'm shockingly good at it)
-walk the dog
-force myself to work on writing new current novel project.
-cry (although I do think these meds have dried up my tears and I don't know if this is good or bad.)
-experiment: can I still write while under the influence of Ativan?
-stare at the wall, back of couch, floor, for unknown lengths of time.
-go through a neurotic breakdown, the whole mess, the not good enough, the doubt the blah blah blah.
-convince myself that it's not so bad, this is normal, some people had good things to say about your book, c'mon you know you can do this.
-rest hand in forehead, sigh deeply, look for strength to keep going, mock myself for being such a friggen drama queen
-get mad at me for calling me a drama queen.
-go out to the front garden and wander around, filling my eyes with plants, yanking out the occasional weed, not thinking about books, agents, riding instructors, editors, riding exams, or money. Think about how great my garden looks this year. It looks great. Look how great it looks.
-go through every bit of info I can find and put together a new agent list.
-go back to bed.
-pat dog and cat at the same time.
-read Rider Manual
-flutz my way through the Level 4 pattern on the big horse and maybe accidentally get better at it.
I haven't made a big deal out of it, but I've been having a hard time with everything this week. I grind my teeth when I sleep and wake with a clenched jaw. I'm having alternating bursts of compulsion to work, clean, pick, organize, followed by cement block heavy tiredness. I don't know what it's all about, but I am sad, sad, sad. I was driving around with my kids in my truck - now that right there should cause a zap of happy -- but I was saaaaaad. Just unreasonably, irrationally, inexplicably sad. Right down the the middle. I would have cried but I was too empty.
It doesn't make sense to be sad like that for no reason, especially when taking the pills that are supposed to solve that. I think I'll be taking a little trip to see the nice doctor again soon.
And what does that have to do with writing? EVERYTHING. Mostly, that I may be feeling this week like day old roadkill, but I am stubborn. If there's one thing that's gotten me through this, or anything, it's tenacity. I falter at times but I am so stubborn I'll keep at it. I'm so stubborn that even when I feel like I'm going to puke, I get on that horse and I ride. Slowly sometimes, but I'm on. I'm so stubborn that I have an empty space on my shelf where MY book is going to go. I'm so stubborn that I won't run away from home, or off myself, or lock myself in the bathroom and rock back and forth humming. Okay, well that last one, yeah okay I've done that but I'm stubborn enough to come out again after an hour or so.
Sometimes I think being stubborn has kept me alive.
So what am I going to do tomorrow?
Ugh. I am going to be stubborn.
That's what I'm doing today and tomorrow and the day after that.
More of the same. Slowly if necessary.
I really don't feel like it, and I'm so tired, but that doesn't matter. I have to keep going.
And here are more pictures of Johnny Depp just because... well, because sometimes I need to be reminded to simply keep my chin up and keep doing what I gotta do.