I’ve been in a funk the past few days. By now, if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know I’ve written a novel, two actually, and the second one is what they call “on submission” with editors at publishing houses. The rejections are coming in. While they are expected (heck, JK Rowling was rejected, and even the author of The Help was rejected like 50 or 60 times), they sting. They’re not horrible rejections, and some are really flattering, like one editor said she was worried that people on the subway were reading the steamy scenes over her shoulder (wait, is that flattering?).
Anyway, this is where I do one of those hugely exuberant and wistful sighs like I wanted to write what they sound like on Facebook yesterday. SIGH. Because it’s just BLAH.
So, the only thing to do is wait. And now I don’t want to know about any of the rejections. Why bother. I’d rather just cover up my ears and squinch my eyes really, really tight like my four-year-old self and shake my head back and forth and yell, “BlahhhhhhhhhhhhhhICAN’THEARWHATYOU’RETRYINGTOTELLMEEEEEEEEE!I’MNOTLISTENINGTOYOUUUUUUU!” Like I would when my little brother and sister would annoy me.
Because it’s annoying.
I just did another one of those exuberant wistful sighs. Damn, I’m getting good at those. They’re so dramatic. And I don’t think I’m really a dramatic person. I should ask around to those people who know me in real life.
Keeping busy is what I’ve got to do now, and that’s going to be super-duper (AJer’s new word) easy. School starts tomorrow for the kids. Eighth, seventh and fourth. And then there’s the fact that the other weekend after a couple mandarin orange vodka tonics with a huge wedge of orange (try ‘em, they rock), I might have kinda told my friend I would consider training for a half-marathon with her … BWHAHAHAHAAHA!
So yeah, I have been getting up at 6 a.m. to walk/run (the running part lasts about half to three-quarters of a song). And I’ve only gotten up four times to do this, but maybe I’ll keep it up.
Today, this song below came on, and I kept playing it over and over because it spoke to me. It actually said, “Stephanie, listen to these words, maybe it’s about your book. Or maybe it’s about Natasha talking about a girl who wants to do something else.” The cool thing about this song was that it came on at the right time, when I needed to hear it:
"Unwritten" NATASHA BEDINGFIELD
I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The thing about this book I’ve written that is on submission right now is that if it doesn’t get published, then I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to write a whole ‘nother book. (I just like saying it like that, even though “a whole ‘nother” makes no sense, and as I wrote that, I thought, “ooh, that would look good in a book,” so maybe I do have it in me to write another?) … after all, I think I thought the same thing after I wrote my first one, and that one didn’t sell. So maybe I do.
The rest is still unwritten …