Life and times of an unpublished dreamer

I check my inbox a million times a day. The outcome is always the same; it’s always as empty as Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. My internet provider has changed its number to an unlisted number. I guess they got tired of me calling insisting something was amiss with my email account.

I know it’s now fashionable for an agent to only reply to queries they are willing to pursue, however I would feel so better knowing that I suck and not assuming that my manuscript is bad. A simple form rejection letter eases my wounded heart much more than a blanket agent ignore.

I get somewhat disheartened when I find out that my dream agent has responded to another query in mere nanoseconds, knowing the same agent has had your query since the dark ages.

I’ve forced myself to believe that any light at the end of a tunnel is a positive thing, even though I get ran-over by train after train after train.

I still search for that elusive rainbow, and I still get soaked to the bone by the torrential rains.

It’s getting harder but I also still wish upon the same star, and dreaming the same dream. The difference is I know now that millions of talented writers wish on that same star and dream the same dream. I’m very surprised that I have not given up.

The hardest part of the journey is depending on a stranger to believe in my dream as much as I believe in it.