And then I got up and read the second Twilight book for another three hours, occasionally screaming "He's a werewolf, you moron!" at Bella, who is in fact the densest protagonist in the history of ever. I'm about halfway through and just glad she's at least stopped whining and pining wussily after Edward. Don't even get me started on a feminist interpretation of Bella because we'd be here for days, and I don't even consider myself a feminist. How a book with such a moronic main character can be so...utterly engrossing and un-putdownable is beyond me.
I wasn't going to post about things like this, but here it is: I got a rejection on a partial last night. It wasn't the end of the world because it's only my second rejection (seasoned writers are rolling their eyes now). The rejection letter couldn't have been nicer...well, unless it hadn't reject me.
But after I read the rejection e-mail, I found myself doing what I always do: thinking I should get cracking on a new novel because of course the rejection was absoltuely right and the book's not the best thing ever written, and I completely understand that, and I promise I'll query next time with something much better...
I said as much to JB when I told him about the rejection, smiling my brave smile and waving my hand like it didn't matter. He gave me a look and didn't push it.
Does anyone else feel like this? I try to be the kind of writer who takes constructive criticism and rejection gracefully and humbly. But sometimes it goes maybe too far. I mean, my book is not crap. And most people get tons of rejections before they get a 'yes' from an agent, everybody knows that.
But a part of me wants to make excuses for the rejection, to distance myself from the rejected work by making it clear I know it might deserve to be rejected and I don't suck as an author.
Have you ever seen Amadeus? I think about that movie when I think about my writing and usually feel more like this guy:
than this guy:
Salieri (first photo) was a good composer. And he was so good he could instantly recognize and appreciate musical genius. But he also recognized that he himself was not a musical genius and never ever would be anywhere near as good as Mozart, no matter how hard he tried.
Writing is a daunting process when you read truly good books and realize you may never be able to even approach writing something that good. At least, that's how I feel.
Then I have to tell myself that cheesy line about how if the only birds who sang were the best ones, the forest would be a quiet place, blah blah blah.
Besides, how much enjoyment did I get out of reading books about Nancy Drew or the Babysitter's Club? LOTS. And there are times now when I'd much rather read a Shopaholic book than George Eliot, whom I love.
So rejection stings. Suck it up, AC. There's plenty more where it came from. Besides, wouldn't the world be a worse place if Ann M. Martin hadn't decided to be a writer? I think it would.