I thought I was impervious to rejection letters. I've been submitting to poetry book contests and literary magazines for the past five years, and have probably racked up a hundred rejections. I know it doesn't matter, because a poem that has been rejected dozens of times will eventually be picked up by someone, unless it's total and utter crap. And I usually have a good sense of whether something is good or not.
But agent rejections are an entirely different beast. My novel is so precious to me that one cursory form letter is enough to make me ... well, let's just say there was a piece of cake in the fridge that I had no intention of eating. That was before I checked my email. Now I have a sugar rush like you wouldn't believe. Also -- not even hungry. So yuck.
I have to stop this sh*t now. In the past I used food to sublimate emotions -- sad? Angry? Bored? Ecstatic? I couldn't deal, so I reached for the chips/cookies/cake/second helping of whatever. Since becoming an almost vegan, I cleaned up my diet and have made a point of only eating when I'm *actually* hungry. I never want to backslide.
So, okay, faceless agent. You didn't like my kickass novel. I'm sorry about that. It's your loss. This is the first -- and last time I'm going to let you get to me. Because this novel will be published.
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