I moped about yesterday after my rejection, even soliciting the sympathy of my middle son. What would you do if you didn’t write? he asked. Get a waged job. And then what? he asked. Be less happy. Hmm. He’s right of course. Time to soldier on.
I finished a draft of a new short story today. I’m happy with it too. And then a phone call came offering me a gig at a festival. Back on track.
One of the trials of being a freelancer is the uneven nature of the work. Feast and famine. Feeds the emotional roller coaster too. Rejection can feel so personal, when it seldom is. It’s business.
I was talking to some friends today about one of my picture books currently in production and telling them that by the time it is released it will have been 12 years since I wrote the first draft. It made them feel better about progress on projects of their own which are taking longer than planned.
And it earned me a glass of wine!