I finished novel one of my Danish sister novels and sent it to Covenant for their consideration in June. Unlike my other submissions, I had high hopes for this one. I’ve worked on it so long and so hard trying to meld it into a really good novel. Some of you can understand then, the heartbreak of rejection I felt when, barely a month later and just before we moved, I got my rejection email.
“Dear Ms. Scott,
Thank you for submitting Farewell, My Denmark. After careful consideration, we have come to the conclusion that it is not something that fits our publishing needs. We appreciate the skills, effort, and time that have gone into preparing your manuscript.
Best wishes in your future writing endeavors.
Somehow, I think being rejected by email is worse than getting a letter. When I read this, I envisioned them treating my manuscript the same way that I’d treat a stinky, cloth diaper—one that’s also soaking wet. I was devastated. I cried like a three-year-old who’d just experienced the loss of a pet.
Discouragement—I’ve come to know the feeling so well. Not only in my writing life and my artistic life, but my family life as well. It’s all grown together to form a large, sticky mass surrounding me and my endeavors.
How does one relieve themselves of the anti-life-form of discouragement? Shall I be discouraged then, until someone grabs up my novel and eagerly publishes it—or until all of my children learn to be good citizens and valiant in their faith?
That would be a pointless waste of my time, and my life. I must rise above the goo.