Today, I received my FIRST EVER copy of REAPER in print. It’s fucking gorgeous and beautiful and I am not ashamed to say I snuggled it for a while.
And after we snuggled and whispered sweet nothings to each other, I thought about the release. THAT’S RIGHT. Other people (hopefully) will be reading this thing. And not only will they be reading it, they’ll have OPINIONS and shit. And while REAPER is awesomesauce with a dash of sarcastilicious (Thanks, Renee), there will be people out there who hate it. Don’t worry, I’ve got whiskey.
And then I thought, HOLY TWAT WAFFLE I have ANOTHER book coming out next year, which only leads to more rejection via review.
Which brings me to my point–
The rejection never stops.
Say it with me.
THE REJECTION NEVER STOPS.
But seriously, it doesn’t. It starts with query letters, then edits that make you cut out your favorite scenes, and then reviews and THE CYCLE NEVER ENDS.
And the anxiety? I’ve got a new WIP in front of me that I’m completely in love with, but in the dark recesses of my mind there’s a voice. A voice that says it doesn’t matter what I write, because it’ll suck. It all sucks. It’s like the editor voice, but on steroids. Fucker.
It’s taking some time and patience and a tall glass of whiskey and coke in my “I ❤ BEAVER” glass to get through it.
A career in writing, or any of the arts in general, is complete bullshit. But I’ll be DAMNED if I ever stop.