Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Editing Updates <3

Here's my good mood: I finished my edits. I do believe, my dearies, that 'Hounds' is ready to go out amongst agents.

Here's my less-than-good mood: That means jumping out amonst the agents, handing over my novel, and waiting for rejection.

I like to think I am knowledgable about the publishing industry (although less so about the spelling here--knowledgeable?), but at the same time, I hate rejection. I have, one can argue, led an occasionally boring life, partly to avoid rejection. But I know rejection is part of the game, as much as I want to be confident and say, "I'll get an agent with my first query sent." People like confidence, they like certainty, they like to see that you (read: me) can handle stress and not fall apart at the drop of a hat.
Well, stress is fine, good, I can deal with that. (You guys haven't met my family. Stress is daily entertainment in this house.) I love writing. I want to write for the rest of my life, to get better with every story, to make a living out of this skill and passion. I just hate rejection.
I commented on a post on Sherwood Smith's journal once, a few weeks back--the topic revolved around conversations, conventions and introverts, but it reminded me of this feeling I struggle with from time to time. I shared my example. For introverted me, stepping into a conversation is like a game of double-dutch jump rope, rocking back and forth, waiting for the right moment. Unfortunately, my "right moment" never seemed to come. I would stand there rocking, waiting, and someone else would jump in on the other side.
I don't want writing to be another missed opportunity. [And my writerly instincts scream at all the 'I' statements.] But I need to screw up the courage (a weird cliche out of context), and just do it. Query is ready, book is done and edited, and there's an excel sheet with a good number of agents and their requirements listed, just waiting for me.
Everything waiting for me. ~cue scared kitty again~ I think I'll be okay once I start. So here I am, watching the rope as it slaps the hot pavement. Someone nearby sings a silly rhyme. I'm gonna

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