This week I've joined the Insecure Writer's Support Group through Alex J. Cavanaugh's blog.
I have news. I got an email from an editor I talked to at a writer's conference almost nine months ago. I sent him the whole of Trendy Poseurs Go Home, which he requested because he wanted to read a YA novel that was completely devoid of the paranormal. So his recent email said he just started reading what I sent him, which is understandable because it takes a long time to get through submissions like this, but I had given up on that particular possibility long ago. He said he liked what he was reading and wanted to make sure it was still up for grabs before he read the rest.
I immediately responded and said, yes, yes, by all means read on and enjoy. And how much do you want to pay me for it? Should I start planning my book tour? Who's going to play me and my twin in the Charlie Kaufman version for the screen?
Sometimes my brain does that, it's true. But in reality, I know it's a long shot. A very long shot, like aiming a laser pointer at the moon.
When I tell people, they go, oh, that's so cool. It is, but it's not. In my head I'm thinking it's a small step that could too easily disappear like your footsteps on the beach. I most likely will wait another nine months for another response and it will be a kind but firm rejection.
What do I do in the meantime?