Last night I sent out about six queries. I don’t know that the query letter was ready to go out, but it was damn time to suck it up and send it into the world. A friend is making final edits, so the query I send later in the week may not be the same I sent yesterday.
Today, I got my first rejection email. It was glorious. I was excited. Ecstatic to be…rejected? Yeah. Mostly I was thrilled because it wasn’t a form rejection. Obviously, the editor read the query, which means an intern or email reader or whoever the hell screens queries sent it along. I’m OK with this.
I don’t know what’s going to happen. I do know that the chances of even representation are slim. It’s competitive. The book may not be good enough. It may not be what they’re looking for right now. All these things work against me, work against every hopeful writer nervously clicking “send.”
If it doesn’t happen, a real possibility, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Cry, probably. And then? I don’t know. I may try fiction. I may rework the premise. I may just blog for a while. I may stop writing and start knitting or making soap (I really want to try making soap. Reals.). I may crawl under a rock for a few years. I don’t know.
For now I’ll just wait. Hope. See how long it takes before rejection starts to really hurt.