I don’t care what people say or how brave a face they put on it, receiving a rejection is akin to a full body flay of tiny nicks from an exploding paper mill. Paper cuts hurt, so do rejections and all the sage advice in the world—don’t give up, sub to another house, start a new ms, take solace from the many thousands who have suffered likewise—isn’t worth a damn whilst the cut is still smarting.
I know, I received one and I very much pretended to be brave, whilst privately wishing I’d booked a bed at the local A&E department. God, did it hurt—for days!
Only thing that made me feel better was receiving a request for a full at the end of the same week…so maybe the sage advice isn’t totally wasted, sub far and wide, because publishing is subjective, and if the force be with you—luck by any other name—you will get a break…eventually.
My moment of sagacity:
Rejection = pain
Pain = Heart (you need a heart because without one, you’re a sociopath)
Painkillers (balls + bloody mindedness) = Relief (maybe)
Relief = Bad Hangover!
Bad Hangover = Hair of the Dog (get back to writing)