Reenie, I don’t think any writer manages to develop a skin thick enough to take rejection well. It just sucks! But there are rejections, and then there are rejections. I once got a scathing rejection from Marion Zimmer Bradley, and it felt awful, until I realized she’d written it herself. But most are form letters or so cryptic as to why, they may as well be form letters.

Eric and Vikk, thanks so much for stopping by, and Eric, thank you for the mention.

I like your phrase “there is an ass for every seat.” Sometimes I feel that way when I write, sometimes I feel like “what ass would buy this?” I become convinced our editor is about to finally sober up and realize what dreck she’s been buying. And I’ve heard the same from plenty of other writers who’ve had some success. So the important thing is to ignore those bleak thoughts and keep going.

I read both suggested blogs and both were thought provoking. But Mayer’s personally inspired me. A stack of rejections is starting to mount.

Several days after I finished my first book, I enthusiastically started my second. I daydreamed that my folks had erred by not calling me Hope because I was full of so much of it! I love my second book – it’s so dear to my heart. But after chapter 7, and after not setting the publishing world afire, I started to make excuses not to write - Christmas, my new grandson’s blanket I was crocheting, too much coffee, not enough coffee, Groundhog Day - I was a nobody, a dreamer…I even stopped trying to peddle my manuscript, though I did fete a little nibble given to me from an agent. It was a martini night! There was no ensuing hangover – just bitter disappointment when he decided to ‘pass.’ My name became Despair.

I took out my paints and let my creativity spill onto the canvas. It was a benevolent hedge – I have a deadline for a show. I know, I know. My hubris is insatiable that I want people to embrace my words as well as my paints.

This morning I madly searched the Internet for a ‘grow-up’ pill and found it with Mayer’s blog. I am starting chapter 8. I know I have a gift, I know I have a good book – the right person just hasn’t discovered it. By golly, there is an ass for every seat. No, my name isn’t Hope, and it ain’t Despair. It’s Reenie, and I’m a writer!