So, I woke up this morning to a nice fat rejection note in my inbox. I’ve always prided myself on the fact that I was one of those people who, darn it, could just take rejection. No big deal. Part of the business, baby.
Yep, I’ve always prided myself on that, but I have to admit it hasn’t always worked out that way. When I was shopping around my last book, a rejection letter would get me down for a whole day, maybe two.
But this time? It looks like I’m over it. No more sticking my tongue out at the agent’s web page. No hiding the e-mail in a sub-folder so I won’t accidentally see it and get depressed all over again. I am fine with it, and (call me supremely arrogant) more surprised than disappointed.
Which means I guess I’m now… a businesswoman. Or maybe just a grownup.