So, the rejections keep coming, and I keep going. I will get this work out somehow, but some days it takes a lot of courage. Yesterday I felt like running away, just taking a long drive and looking at anything but another page of printed words. I thought about taking music lessons, or a course in line drawing. Hopping a plane for anywhere--well, probably Ireland in my case. The fear of one more futile attempt at placing a difficult manuscript just about knocked me out of my chair. What really mattered, though, was not disappointing myself. I've worked hard at seeing myself as a writer, and writers, to complete the process, need readers. So I flung myself into the desk chair, punched on the computer and set up two queries for finished manuscripts. They go into the mail today. It's worth the postage to get them out of my hands and to tell myself that I'm doing my part in this process.
Then I got an upsetting e-mail from a colleague about a project that grew while I was looking in the other direction, at my creative work. Again, my impulse was to run, just say, hey, I'm out of this mess. But I pulled in my horns, pushed back with my objections, and tried to let the dust settle, so that if I do leave the project it will be a considered decision and not a blast of anger propelling me into the stratosphere. Meanwhile, I have this whole book of markets for that tough ms., so I'll be right here at my keyboard where I belong, trying to find a home for a character who needs to enter the fray. I've protected her long enough. Time to leave the nest, girl. I know I'm making a big mess of metaphor here, but gee, I'm still angry. Maybe I can put this anger to work for me. I'll show them all that I've got the energy to do my chosen work. Then I'll go for that drive.