Being Rejected Never Felt so Good

It happened. My book The Painters got it’s first rejection from a publisher. Duh duh DUH!

I don’t know, maybe I should be more upset about this? There was a while right after I got the letter where I did feel like shedding a few a tears (of course, I get teary-eyed about EVERYTHING now days–maybe that comes with age?), but then I just started feeling really proud of myself.

I mean, I wrote a book. I wrote a whole stinking book. And then I didn’t just get it into the hands of a publisher, I went right up to him and looked him straight in the eye and said, “Marry me!” (Just kidding. Arrested Development reference.)

Anyway, the point is that I had the guts to put myself out there and I’ve got no regrets about it. If I’m honest, I don’t think I was ready to let the book get published yet anyway. I didn’t realize it then, but I’ve realized it since and now I have the time I need to really make this book what I want it to be.

Funnily enough the rejection ended up just motivating me something crazy, and I’ve been working harder than ever on this little baby of mine. I’ve never BEEN so excited about it. And I can’t wait until it’s truthfully all grown up and ready to take its first steps into the world.

I have no doubt that when the book is ready, I’ll find the right publisher. I just have to keep trying. Which is something I happen to be pretty good at.

Dying When You’re Not Really Sick is Really Sick, You Know?

No, I’m not dying. Over the past couple days there’ve been moments when I thought I might—well, okay so it wasn’t even that bad. But, yeah, I AM sick, so the title of this post has nothing to do with what’s really going on here. It’s a quote from one of my favorite movies, Better off Dead, and it’s what popped into my head so, you know, whatever.

I was worried about getting sick. I thought, “Oh great. Now I really won’t be able to get much writing in.” But turns out lying with my face smushed into my pillow and the lights all out while listening to intensely beautiful music like the soundtrack to The Chorus made for some of the most productive “writing” hours of my recent life.

I worked out so many of the kinks that have been worrying me in my Painter story. The ones that were just hanging over my head in the most daunting way, daring me to tackle them. And I did it—lying down!

Oh man. I’m so giddy about it. Huge weight off my shoulders, getting rid of those kinks. Now I can go back to simply enjoying myself as I write.

It just goes to show that sometimes you have to stop staring at the words on the page and let your mind wander.

Hunger Games: Still Haunting my Dreams

I finished the Hunger Games a few days ago and it is STILL stuck in my head. Last night it was all mixed together with dreams about writing/living Queen of Attolia fan fiction.

Suzanne Collins really trapped me in Katniss’ story. Can I tell you how melancholy and on edge I felt while reading it? And the other dreams I’ve had…anyway, let’s just say that overall the series was really well written–enough to still be getting to me.

It left me feeling satisfied even though it’s such a dark story. Despite all the heartache it puts the reader and the characters through, I felt like it ended almost exactly as it had to end. (I’m sure there will be people who completely disagree with me on this, but this is my blog, so there.)

Here are some memorable moments that happened as I read. Warning: there will be SPOILERS.

Book 1: The Hunger Games

  • Having trouble seeing Katniss as anyone but Jennifer Lawrence, although everyone else in the story looked different in my head than they did in the movie.
  • Crying my eyes out when Rue died even though I already knew that was going to happen and I thought I’d guarded myself against getting emotional over it.

Book 2: Catching Fire

  • Laughing out loud over the following quote because even though it’s an awful sentiment, in the context of the story it really is stinking hilarious: “All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep?”
  • Innocently looking up Hunger Games on Twitter and in one awful glance learning things I didn’t want to know yet. (Though this did make it easier to deal with things when Prim died.)

Book 3: Mockingjay

  • Thinking over and over again, How can she kill off so many of her characters like that? It kills ME to do it in my own writing. (Of course, a lot of the deaths in Hunger Games did feel justified by the story, but there were SO MANY.) 
  • Finishing the book while sitting in the middle of Guitar Center, riveted to the words on the Kindle page and forcing myself not to cry over how sad Katniss was, all the while pretending to listen to my husband test some guitar effects pedals. If I had started crying I can only imagine what the crowd in there would’ve thought. Or maybe girls crying in Guitar Center happens all the time?
Me entertaining myself at Guitar Center. "Plunk, plunk, plunk," is what my playing sounds like.

Me entertaining myself at Guitar Center. “Plunk, plunk, plunk,” is what my playing sounds like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  • And lastly: I started to read The Scorpio Races the next day and realized that every time it introduced a likable character, I was telling myself “this person is going to do die” in order to prepare emotionally for the fictional blood bath that may or may not be waiting to happen in this new story. Maybe, just maybe, Hunger Games traumatized me a little bit.