Two rejections so far on the adult novel. Each a blow to the psyche, a staggering of the senses. Both another nail in the “not good enough” coffin.

Eleven more to go.

My agent keeps reminding me that it aint over til it’s over. Which I know is true. And I’ve been through worse than thirteen rejections on my work. (Although not at this stage of the game.) My first book (which has been relegated to a dusty cardboard box in the attic) received no less than FORTY-THREE rejections. And I just read something this past weekend that Kathryn Stockett, author of the hugely successful novel The Help (which is marvelous, by the way) persevered after FORTY-ONE rejections. And now look at her!

So we’ll see. We’ll wait and hope and just…see. Meanwhile, I am lucky enough to be occupied this week with my adorable 6-year old who just underwent a tonsillectomy. She is home recovering and we are doing things like princess puzzles and baking brownie cups, and writing thank you notes to everyone who sent her post-operative gifts. With three kids, it’s not often that you get to spend so much time with just one of them. And she is so lovely. So dear. Just this morning, as we were sitting in front of the fireplace working on a light catcher for her bedroom, she looked over at me as I was gnawing on my fingernails and said in her gravelly, frog-like voice: “If you keep biting your nails, they’re going to get shorter.”

I laughed out loud. Gave her a big kiss.

I can wait through anything with her by my side.

Anything at all.

Onward, always.

CG

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