My Historical Romance novel, Farewell, My Denmark, was recently rejected by the publisher I’d submitted it to. This baby of mine has been with me so long, it’s grown into an adult (so to speak). I still love it. I still think she’s beautiful. We’ve come a long way together. This is my first (literary) child, and I could never throw her in the drawer of unfulfilled dreams. As my talent has grown, I’ve pulled this baby out and rewritten it. So needless to say, this is at least the fifth complete rewrite. My baby’s not the same anymore, and I dare say she’s turned into a beautiful story. Special thanks go to the dozens of critiquers I’ve had over the years who have helped with the process by giving me suggestions while still maintaining my belief in my beautiful baby, and also by helping me to grow as a writer.
Looking back on her infancy, I can see that my literary baby was originally rough, and perhaps not a beautiful baby, but she’s grown now and as beautiful as ever (in my eyes). This is why the rejection hurt. Stung like a slap in the face. I’ve been pouting over it for a good week now and I finally feel better.
I haven’t sworn off of writing, and I haven’t sworn not to try again. This story deserves to be told, but in the meantime I’ve been illustrating a children’s picture book that I wrote ten years ago and have wanted to illustrate myself but have been too afraid to try. I figured now was the time, and I must say that so far things are going well. I’m a third of the way finished (I started with the easiest pictures first), and encouraged to go all the way.
|Three generations born on the same day. |