Sign you might be a real writer

(versus a wannabe)

Multiple rejection notices all arrive within about an hour of each other.

And, it takes you until after dinner and a pause in the slaughter of the innocents in the super-fun game “Overlord” to realize that you are supposed to be, like, bothered by that. And, you’re not.

I mean, if these stories were rejected, I know enough about art and these stories to know that it has nothing to do with the quality of what I produce. Is my confidence unfounded? Maybe, maybe not. But, it’s there. And rejections honestly don’t bother me.

At ConDFW, a big group of folks from the NTSFW, Sam, Michelle, and Kurt from Armadillocon all went to get “Sekrit Sooshi” (quoting Michelle’s google chat status…) During the meal, it was revealed that one of the members really and truly hated my book. This person was cheerfully in depth about it, and neither one of us was really bothered by it. The way he explained his reading habits he was seriously not my audience, and it’s a testament to my ability that fellow got as far as he did. Walking out, one of the really nice North Texas Speculative Fiction Workshop ladies (don’t remember which one… Maria?) got close and wanted to make sure I was okay, because she couldn’t believe how brutal that was.

And I was like, “What are you talking about? Oh, that. Why would that bother me? Did you hear him talk about how he reads? THAT’S not my audience. That’s just some random guy. And, he bought the book, so I still get royalties. And, he probably passed that book on to a friend, an enemy, a library or a used book store, which helps me. So… Why would that bother me?”

Anyway, I was just thinking about that, because it took me most of a day to realize that a few years ago, my day would have been ruined by so many rejections coming right on top of each other, and these days I have to remind myself to remember that this is supposed to suck.

Which it doesn’t. Open spreadsheet. Look down list. Mail out in morning.

Why does that bother so many people? I don’t get it. I don’t remember that way of being a writer anymore.

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