Its been about 3 weeks since I sent off my ms to the editors/agents I pitched at Silken Sands, and I haven’t heard a peep from any of them. I consider this to be a moral victory, as I was expecting a rejection in about 45 minutes after they got it.
I have a friend who has decided to give up on the whole pitch/query/submission game. And I can certainly understand it. I have a real job, which (modesty aside) I am fairly good at. Between the two teenage daughters and working for six, count them, six elected officials, I have all the sturm und drang I can handle.
But I do love writing down my stories — well, except when I don’t love it, when it is going badly and I would rather have a root canal than try to get a paragraph down. Let’s say I love most of it — and I especially love having written them. When I have something on paper and I can look at it and go, you know, that isn’t bad.
So why do I feel the need to inflict my writing on other people? An agent’s blog I follow recently asked why so many people want to be published. It got me to thinking. I don’t know why — I just like my people so much, and I want other people to know them. Does that make sense?
(Well, that and the fact that all published romance novelists make $millions. Don’t they?)