Holy shit you guys
I sent my first manuscript out as an unsolicited submission to Dreamspinner Press.
I did it. For real.
I attached it to an email and I clicked “Send” and a few hours later I got a “receipt confirmation” email and now I get to spend the next EIGHT WEEKS living in LIMBO waiting for… well, let’s be real, I’m expecting a rejection letter. I’m forcing myself to expect a rejection letter. I think my writing is good, it’s definitely better than some published stuff I’ve read, but I know that good writing isn’t the only factor that publishers consider.
So now I wait.
But, there’s no point in dwelling on it. In fact, there’s absolutely no point in even giving it a passing thought. If Valentine’s Day comes and goes and I haven’t heard anything, I’ll start to worry. But until then, until eight weeks have passed, there is nothing I can do and there is no point in worrying.
It’s easy to say, of course. It’s so easy to type things like “I am not going to worry” and “I am going to accomplish this goal.” It’s also easy to type “I am a tyrannosaurs rex” or “My hands are actually jellyfish.” Typing does not make these things true.
I’m not going to worry. I’m not, I’m not! I have another WIP to focus on, and two short stories that are in varying states of completion, plus I’m in the middle of reading three books, and Christmas is coming up, and I’m really throwing myself into this Twitter nonsense. I downloaded Hootsuite and I’m having fun with scheduling tweets. I sit around on my lunch break queuing up tweets for the next day or two. I also spend an hour or two actually on Twitter each night interacting with people (that’ll have to change though. I need to spend most of that time writing if I’m going to finish my nanowrimo WIP before Dec. 31).
I’M NOT GOING TO WORRY.
I’M NOT GONNA THINK ABOUT IT, NO SIR.