I know every writer gets rejections, I'm not naive enough to think I'd be immune from the inevitability, but that doesn't make them easy. The interesting part of it is analyzing how I respond to them. I'm obviously a pleaser, I'm learning it more every day.
When I receive a rejection, I hit a kind of panic mode. I don't get angry; getting angry is projected negative energy. I don't necessarily get sad either, even though being sad is probably the healthiest response. I get panicky and I get doubtful and I start to believe all my faiths are delusions.
It's shocking how quickly it turns. I was at lunch today with a friend of mine who believes in me unconditionally. She read the first three chapters of my book and loved them, giving them sincere praise and lots of encouragement. I thanked her over and over and assured her, in full confidence, that I would keep trying despite getting rejections. I'm only beginning along this path. Then, the minute our lunch was over, I opened my email to find a rejection and I instantly doubted my merit.
Thinking about it, I can rationalize why this is. It's because I feel like I'm doing the best that I can. I'm making the best story I can produce with all the work and attention I can afford. Receiving a rejection fills me with this intense fire to fix things. I want to make the book better for having received the rejection but I have such a hard time pushing through what I considered was "the best I could manage". This makes my paranoid mind call into question my ability and taste level. I'm terrified that I'm clueless and delusional about my own abilities and skill level - of those who think they are God's gift to their particular field but are actually stuck in the mediocre.
I want so badly for Threadcaster to do well. I want it to be a big success - I really think it could be, and I'm terrified of failure. Not only of not making it to the national market, but also of being a blip on the radar. I feel like the world and its inhabitants could resonate with audiences, and I have faith in its promise, but there's so much that's out of my hands. If the world that receives my baby isn't receptive then my big dream and my best shot might die on the table. I'm not ready for that, and I'm not ready for by best job to be nothing special. If only passion could sell a book.