Interestingly, my book has been rejected by a publisher and an agent and though, at times, I feel like throwing myself off a bridge would be the most appropriate response, I have decided to live, instead.
Why, I thought the vicissitudes of the publishing world would not apply to me is even beyond my basic artistic narcissism. Somehow, I thought I would not have to deal with the agony of rejection, rewriting, possible failure, etc. Ah.
So here I am. Human, with all the other people who are writing, hoping to get published. I have decided to make the rewriting and the continuation of submitting a positive experience as opposed to the affirmation that what I have to say is without value.
Here I go.
Despair is not an option. Okay, maybe a resting place, but not the ultimate destination.