One $#@*& Sucky Morning

Why? Well, I have a cold. Plus, I've gotten not one but two rejection letters from lit agents today.

Not that I'm going to give up, but shit--who do these people think they are rejecting me? Someday in the near future they're going to be kicking themselves in the ass for passing on this project. (Like my mother-in-law's boyfriend, Neil, who passed on a chance to invest in this crazy project called Starbucks. "I thought," Neil remembers, "these guys are going to lose their shirts. No one is going to spend $1.50 on coffee....)"

Anyway. My plan is to plow my way through the top tier lit agents before I start targeting independent publishers.

I know: publishing a first novel is an uphill battle. And since I haven't really published any short stories, the chances that someone is going to bet on me are slim to none. I'm not going to give up--I may be that pathetic 50 year-old in the corner yammering on about this book she wrote, but I won't give up.

Still, I'd be lying if all this didn't make me feel like such a fucking loser.

I come from a family of uber-achievers: doctors, lawyers, etc. Seems like anytime a Myers does something, they either earn a lot of money at it or are the best in their field. Makes me embarassed to tell my grandmother when she asks--Nope, haven't sold that novel I worked on for like FIVE YEARS.

Anyway.

Venting done.

Back to the computer. Sigh.