Disappointment Stinks

Disappointment stinks. I mean, for real. It really, really does. Everyone experiences disappointment. It's just part of life. Plain and simple. And I will admit, right now I am having a really, really hard time with it. I can't even cry. Not like last time. I simply feel numb. And the fact that I sort of feel numb and robotic isn't good. Numb is bad. Just my opinion.

I wrote a children's book that I really, really believe in. Usually I am very quick to criticize all things having to do with myself. But this book, and I'm not kidding, seemed to flow not from me, but through me. The book came to me faster than I could write.

I was driving my younger boy to preschool one day and I asked him a question. After I asked him that question, an entire book came to me faster than I could write. I seriously had a crayon and a napkin for the first part. I drove immediately home and wrote the entire thing in three hours.

I have never, ever had anything happen like that before, or since.

So then, I started writing query letters. Ahhh, the dreaded query letter. Basically you have one page to make some agent (probably in New York) think that your book is more important than the other zillion books they have been sent that day. No pressure or anything. Especially when you are some stay-at-home mom in Alabama trying to convince a Central Park person that you have got it goin' on. Not an easy task.

Lo and behold, I had an early bite, from a reputable agent (found in Writer's Market and everything.) She is a major author too. She said the book was lovely. I was on cloud nine. I'm serious. My dream was coming true. I didn't care if I ever got one penny out of it. I just wanted to be published in something other than a newspaper. Total life dream and everything. We all have our thing.

Anyhow, for a while I thought this agent was going to represent me. And from what I have read, that is the really hard part. 99% of writers never find an agent. I can't tell you how happy I was. I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest. And that is not just an expression. It was pounding so hard you could practically see my chest move.

She was interested for a while, and then said that she would pass because she really wanted to see more work from me. I suppose another book. And the economy was bad. Tough to take. 

I was devestated. I remember throwing myself on my keyboard and sobbing. My heart was utterly broken. Totally broken. I took a break and licked my wounds.

Then, out of nowhere, I get an e-mail from the agent at the beginning of the new year. This year. She was interested again. She even sent my book with changes in it, suggestions to me, and wanted to know what I thought. I took her suggestions into consideration and formed the book into something even better. At least it was better by the standards of an important New York agent. I mean she LITERALLY took the time to break down every line into syllables and made sure it was pleasing to the ear. NOT something that you can do quickly. Not something you would do for the heck of it. She was clearly interested.

I told her that I was almost finished with a second book. She said she looked forward to reading it. I sent it to her and waited. Waited in that New York, cool, don't want to seem too desperate kind of way.

Anyhow, I stayed busy and didn't tell too many people.

A couple of weeks later I saw that I had received an e-mail from her. Heart pounding out of chest again.

The e-mail was titled, "APOLOGIES." Yes, in all caps.

She said that she was overextended and that it would be better for her and ME if I found someone else to represent my "lovely" book.

Seriously. Limbo for a year and a half!!!!!!! A year and a half that I could have been sending it out to other agents. A year and a half of my life wasted by waiting. Not like a job interview where you don't get the job. One hour of your time. Nope. A YEAR AND A HALF.

This time I didn't sob at my computer. I seem to be fluctuating between numbness and anger. Not ONE tear was shed. I couldn't cry even though I wanted to and thought I should.

Because see...I'm stubborn as all get out. And I believe in this book. I will wallpaper my laundry room with rejection letters if I have to. (Yes, I know that sentence ended with a prepositon, but this is my blog and I'm a rebel.)

And here is why I couldn't cry. Nothing worth anything is EVER easy. Maybe it took me almost 40 years to figure this out, but I now officially believe it. Yes, I'm sad. Yes, I'm mad. Yes, I kinda want to suck my thumb.

But my stubborness trumps all of that.

I cannot think of one successful person who has not had to power through failure. And I think the success is much sweeter if it wasn't handed to you on a silver platter.

So I allowed myself a few days to lick my wounds, and now I'm moving on. Yes, I know that I may never publish a book. And I know that most of you out there realize your dream may never come true.

But wouldn't you rather be on your death bed saying, "I did all I could do," rather than, "Wow, I should have gone for it?"

Of course you would.

NO MATTER WHAT, NEVER, EVER give up on your dreams. You are not truly living if you give up.

I know it may not happen for me. I'm not that crazy. Of course I realize that. It might not even be good. I could be delusional.

But if it does...oh my goodness...if it does???  

Well, I will be like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

I will take a trip to New York with my new book and head straight for that agents office and say, "Do you work on commission? Mistake. Big mistake."