After reading this entry’s title, need I really say more?
Last night was not only a step closer to me getting an agent (every no leads you to a yes), but a pound or two closer to me joining Weight Watchers. Man, I really shouldn’t have had that shake.
Yesterday evening played out like most. I went home, let the dogs out, replenished their water and fed them their wet food (have you seen the dog food Beneful? It seriously looks like turkey, chicken, and beef stew. Mike jokes that if we’re ever poor we’ll just eat that because it looks tasty. Yeah right. We won’t be eating Beneful, we’ll be selling that Camaro. Just kidding. I’ll never make Mikey sell his girl). Anyway, so then I cleaned out the dishwasher, packed lunches, swept the floors, and cleaned out the litter boxes (my animals keep me very humble). After all the chores were said and done, Mike pulled up. It’s amazing how he manages to get home just as everything is done. I’m so onto him.
Mike came in and after a little nudging, decided he’d cut the grass. I did a little more cleaning, watched the last 15 minutes of Good Times (I absolutely love those old shows), took a call from my buddy, Mike (he was away in Montreal on vacay for two weeks so we had catching up to do), and read and responded to an email from T (she read yesterday’s blog and agreed that she wants us to be close again. I’m very happy about that). Then I had planned on reading some more of the Stephen King book when I spotted the tiny magenta light flashing on my cell phone out of the corner of my eye, and I knew what it was.
My cell phone will flash a green light when I have a text message, but a purple light when I have an email from my Yahoo account. I only use this Yahoo account for sending out submissions, so when I see that purple light, I know it’s a response from an agent. With trepidation I reached over and grabbed the phone, pulled up that account, and read the email. This one read:
Hi Tisha,
Thank you for your submission to the Blank Agency. Though interesting, it unfortunately isn't right for us at this time.
Please note that our selections are based on a variety of factors including personal taste, category, trend and market forecast. Therefore, I encourage you to continue to seek representation with other agents, who may have a different opinion of your project.
Thank you for your your submission and best of luck to you in your pursuits.
Though this response is much kinder than the other one’s I’ve gotten, don’t you think if you’re going to reject me while sitting on your literary high horse, perhaps you should use spell check before sending out a rejection email?
(Thank you for your your submission and best of luck to you in your pursuits)
I don’t know, it’s just a thought…
Anyway, after reading this I didn’t feel good, but I didn’t feel like milkshakes and fries. Mike finished cutting grass, I grilled him some steak and finished cooking the rest of his dinner, we chatted over The Real Housewives of Jersey, and then Mike decided he was going to hit the gym even though it was already 8:30 PM. I glanced over at my phone, and that merciless magenta light started flashing its ugly little head again, and although my chances of it being favorable were 50/50, the gnawing pain in the pit of my stomach told me before I looked that it wasn’t good. Sure enough it was ANOTHER REJECTION. While the first negative response didn’t throw me into a carb-filled binge fest, this second one sure had the potential to.
Mike left for the gym but not before assuring me that I’d get an agent and that these idiots will all be sorry for rejecting me (his words not mine. I swear). I paced around my house wallowing in my misery before jumping in the shower, putting on my jammies, and cozying up in bed to check out this week’s episode of The DC Housewives (don’t judge). I quickly found myself bored to death with that, so I grabbed the container filled with my extensive collection of O.P.I nail lacquers and painted my nails. As my nails were drying, my phone rang and it was Mike. I answered the phone and barely mumbled a hello, as if my voice had left with my self-confidence hours before. Mike asked me what flavor shake I wanted and I told him I didn’t want one. He then told me that he was at Bruster’s and that he was getting me a shake. My mood instantaneously lifted as I asked him if they had Birthday Cake, the one I thought I wouldn’t like but did. He perused the menu before confirming they did. I was excited.
Mike came home with my shake and as I heard the front door open and close my mouth started to water. He hurriedly walked up the steps, extended his sympathetic, shake-filled hand to me and I grabbed it much like a crazed mugger in the subway. How sad. But after a sip or two I was completely disgusted with myself and I didn’t want it. I rationalized that I might be a rejected unknown, but becoming a rejected, unknown porker might make me feel, um, worse, so enough with feeding my chubby little face.
Long story short, Mike showered and we went to bed but I didn’t sleep well. I kept waking up in the middle of the night and thinking and thinking about my submissions. What did I do wrong? What can I change?
I woke up this morning feeling blah. I didn’t want to think about my submissions, or writing at all for that matter. I went to work, and while sitting at my desk looking at the post-it notes I’ve been writing every day that say, “I will get an agent,” I felt downright defeated. Mike text messaged me about an hour into work to ask me if I’d be writing a blog entry today to which I quickly responded, “NO!” And without any urging at all, because he knows me so well, he simply replied back, “Oh.”
My friend Mike came up to my office to chat and give me the “don’t be upset, it will happen, I know it will” pep talk to which I just stared at him blankly.
Then my friend Chris, text messaged me and it said:
“Your note on your frig says it all!!!! Keep positive. You’re a fab writer. I know you’ll get an agent. Just be patient. Good things come to those who wait.”
And then I started to think. This is only the beginning. I still have forty-some submissions to send out, and the no’s always come before the yeses, so why am I taking this all to heart? I have read numerous accounts of authors—Emily Giffin, Jennifer Weiner, Nicholas Sparks, just to name a few—who were rejected a lot of times before success, but they didn’t give up. Michael Jordon was told he couldn’t play on the varsity team because he wasn’t good enough. Jennifer Hudson lost American Idol only then to go off and win an Oscar (even though I’m completely against singers acting and I think her winning an Oscar is ridiculous, it’s an example that proves my point), and Tiger Woods, while lacking a conscience and morality, is an exemplary golf player because when everyone else was chillin, he was practicing. So there’s no time to cry, to feel sorry for myself, or to mope around, and certainly no time to keep sucking down those Birthday Cake shakes.
I wrote this blog, I’m going to revisit my submission packets to see if there’s anything I might need to change, I’m going to get up tomorrow and put together the twenty-eight packets I’m sending out, and I’m going to keep it moving.
Because life isn’t about all the yeses you get, it’s about what you do when you get the no’s.
Sunday I’m going to my very first muscle car show with Mike. Monday’s entry should be a hoot!
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