Well. I got it. The rejection letter from the agent I sent my query to. I was kind of expecting it, and it’s no big deal that she rejected it. It was sort of a last ditch effort for that story. (I’ve already queried it before.) But every time you send out a query letter, there’s that little angel sitting on your shoulder whispering, “Maybe…” I need to punch that angel.
The rejection was nice. It was a form letter. Kind of what I thought it would be. The agent was nice, but I can tell when there is real interest there. But like Nathan Bransford said, “It’s about the writing and nothing else.” I suppose she didn’t like my writing. No worries. It’s a tight economy (which I was reminded of in my rejection letter) and my story beginning didn’t bowl her over.
I shouldn’t but this type of stuff always makes me question my desire to write stories. I originally wanted to write them so that I could share my ideas with other people. I had my thoughts on what made a kick ass story, and was a little disappointed in what other writers/movie makers/ etc. made. So I wanted to make my own. Writing a story for yourself and you 20 friends is cool and all, but I want my stories to be read by lots of people. I want Joe 6-pack in Iowa to read my story and think, “KICK ASS!” I want people I’ve never met read my stories. I want to entertain them with my stuff.
So writing for my 20 friends seems somehow pointless.
And yet. I will still continue to write. I have ideas for at least 6 other novel-length stories in my head that I need to get out on paper, or screen. These stories float through my head, and I see scenes, beautiful scenes.
Yes, I will continue my journey. I will continue to write until they drag my keyboard away. But sometimes, when I am having a tough time pushing through that one scene…the thoughts of just saying, “What the hell am I doing!?” and deleting it are still there.