It's not like I didn't expect it. The thought that it might come through email yesterday did flit across my mind. Many, many days I even forgot the potential was out there. Because it was so far out there. But today I have that song, I think it was called "Suspicion," running through my mind. But it goes a little like this:
That's all. I can't get past that line. Can't hear any more of that song. And I can't be disappointed. What kind of whacked writer must I be that I am almost relieved to have another rejection under my belt? And a form letter to boot. It did give me a good chuckle. One year, one month, thirteen days, and eighteen hours for a form letter. That's how long I waited to be rejected by these people.
I was getting too big for my britches. Too many great things said about my first few pages by people who should know. When the rejections came, they came with personalized comments, suggestions for betterment.
Maybe that is my problem. I followed many of the suggestions. Now I'm getting form letter rejections. I've probably sucked the life right out of my story.
Now, even I hate it. YES! IT IS BORING! YOU'RE RIGHT! SHE IS WHINEY! I KNOW! WHAT AM I TRYING TO SAY?
If I can just get two more rejections in my inbox, I can shelve this stupid book and go back to sitting on my couch and watching bad reality TV.
Better yet. Read other peoples books that made it past the slush pile.