Yesterday, I got my first rejection. Just a form, but I feel like there should be at least a twinge of disappointment. Maybe it’s because I expected a rejection–especially from this press–but the only thing I really feel is some odd sort of elation.It’s like I’ve weaseled my way into an exclusive club. The members still eye me with suspicion, but I’m in.

On another note; I love how non writers view agents as these idea stealing monsters, who dare to get paid for doing their job. I’ve lost count of how often I’ve been warned away from ever getting one. And they mean it, too.

All I’ve gotta say to that is anyone wants to steal my ideas, I’ll pack them a bag. I live in a world full of them after all.


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