Well, at least that's out of the way...

I think I mentioned that I set up a separate email account just for work. I told myself I wouldn't check it a million times a day since I sent out those queries. But, yeah, I've been checking, about three million times a day. There's this tiny little voice that tells me every time, "one of these days, it's going to be there." You, know THE email. The one where someone gushes about how talented I am and how they want to get my book published.

Well, I did get an email last night before bed. No, it wasn't THE email. But it was A email. A big fat rejection...

Actually it was a  nice email, probably canned and written by some lowly assistant. Despite the nice-ness of the wording it still was a rejection. I have very mixed feelings about it, to be quite honest. Part of me is excited because, dude, I have been rejected, I am a legit writer now! And on the other hand, there's this resounding feeling of "you're not good enough" that sort of echos through your consciousness.

Admittedly I had a hard time sleeping last night. No, I wasn't overly upset. I really think I handled it quite well. Because yes, I was expecting this! I had dreams where I overheard high and mighty literary agents discussing the pros and cons of my writing. In the end one of them decided to ask me for a partial. (A partial is a foot in the door, let me tell you). Then I woke up.

This morning it was the first thing that popped into my head. Rejection. I got out of bed and went straight to my gmail to delete the offending email. It was either that or frame it. I wasn't feeling particularly depressed or anything, just a little dejected. Even though I told myself the first one was probably going to be the hardest.

I feel fine now. Great really. What changed? Well, two little people that I'm responsible for got out of bed and I was busy with making breakfast, changing diapers, and all the other things that I have to do in the morning. Sophia was sitting in her chair blowing me kisses. And then I remembered that writing is just a hobby right now. My kids are my real job, and hey, at least I know I'm darn good at it.

Whether this whole writing things pans out or not, I'll still have them and they don't care whether I'm published or not. So maybe neither should I.

(No this doesn't mean I'm giving up, just trying not to focus so much on what I've defined as success as a writer.)