So I’ve got great news. My novel writing career is starting just like J. K. Rowling’s.
But hey, all the biggies suffer it. I’m in good company. The point is, I’m no longer a wannabe writer. I’ve moved up to being a real live rejected writer. That’s someone who’s trying, as opposed to someone who’s still thinking about trying.
I can’t say it didn’t feel crummy, getting that SASE back exactly eight weeks from the day I sent it. I’m not really sure how Mr. Big Agent hit the date with such precision, especially given the frequent bouts of imprecision our local delivery system seems to experience.
Still, it could have been worse. The message, casting suspicious shades a form letter, stated that the agency didn’t feel there was a sufficient market for my novel. That’s so much nicer than a “You don’t have any talent so give it up” letter.
As rejection reasons go, the sufficient market thing is legit. Not that the assessment is always correct. Nobody thought there’d be a market for George Orwell’s Animal Farm, or Stephen King’s Carrie either.
So what then? Give up writing? Never.
I went to another conference, talked with some people, showed my work around a bit, and prayed for God’s guidance. I’d started dabbling more in humor writing– couldn’t help it, the dog we have is nuts. Maybe I needed a course correction. Then I got a chance to speak to another agent–Mr. Big Agent II, we’ll call him. He really liked the dog stuff. Now I’m off and running with a new project.
So I haven’t abandoned my novel, exactly. But I have laid it aside to explore a new path. Who knows? Maybe it’ll turn out to be a key destination. Either way, I’m going where I think God is leading. Odd how that never seems to be a straight line.