I am sulking.
Following in the steps of other serious writers, instead of having a temper tantrum ( which I would really LOVE to do), I'll just pen out my frustrations.
Today has been extra special--TWO rejections in the space of one hour and 49 minutes. A good friend (or so I thought) posted links to three blogs she deemed "exceptional" and while I agree they are, I am feeling like chopped liver.
I hardly had time to smooth the scowl lines off my face when, lo! another rejection appeared, this time from a bona fide agent. The SASE sat there in my mailbox like some malevolent toad, and the minute I touched the damn thing, its poisonous skin secretions seeped into my pores, blackening my humor.
I really don't care how many rejections J.K. Rowling had, or that even Maugham struggled to get published; I want an agent, I want my novels and stories published, and I want it NOW.
Okay, I feel better. Now I can get back to my current project, which is a 66, 000-word mess. The characters are stupid, the plot is dumb, the sentences are pathetic.
Somebody please remind me why I am doing this. Oh, yeah, because I think I'm a writer.