I am now a "real writer" or so I'm told. I'm starting to put my work out there for the consideration. It's a strangely unnerving process. To have something you value and prize and are proud of be suddenly at the discretion of a complete stranger. It's very much like the feeling you get when you are waiting for the person you like to reply your date invitation, except prolonged, for days, weeks and even months. Excruciating.
And for me, a person who is used to getting what she asks for, this first rejection has elicited an unexpected reaction. I was expecting the first one to be crushing, to make me question myself as an author, a writer, a craftsmith of words. And yet, I am not. Instead I feel vilified, accepted, like I have finally been welcomed into the ranks of my contemporaries. How strange.
Now, on to the next one.
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