denise Leora madre

Perhaps a bit paradoxical to post this to a blog dedicated to my novel-in-progress. But I have never looked at this issue quite this way before, and her reasoning makes profound sense. Novel Matters: Why You Shouldn't Talk About Your Novel : I was talking to a writer friend of mine recently and one of the many subjects we touched on was what happens when a writer talks about his/...

Remember me sharing that after my novel was rejected, I received some helpful feedback from someone at the publishing company? Well… that helpful someone was fired a week ago. Now I admit it: until I heard the official reason, I assumed she was fired because my novel was just that bad and her superiors lost faith in her judgment because she dared waste her time trying to salvage my horrible manuscript. Who knew rejection would wreak such paradoxical havoc on my ego? Me? Not in the least! Image Courtesy of Stuart Miles / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Today is my sixth wedding anniversary. And though the occasion is not strictly related to my publishing dreams, there is a novel-in-progress about the love I found with this yummerific man o' mine. So this post is at least marginally appropriate. Besides which, myHubby himself is most definitely blog-worthy. If I had my druthers, I would dedicate an entire blog to him and my ardent attempts not to smother him with my love and attention. But he would denounce and veto such an endeavor, so I shall settle for posting this original poem... For now ;-) Happy anniversary, Babe.

The day had come. The day for which I had waited six long weeks. The day on which the second publisher to which I sent my novel finally replied to my inquiry. (Sidebar: A few years ago, a different publisher read an earlier draft, and though it praised the novel’s “strong memorable characters and gorgeous turns of phrase,” it declined to publish my book. Don’t get me started on figuring that one out) Anyway, the day had come. The email had hit my Inbox. I took a deep breath, glanced at Horace for strength, and opened the document. (Let's just get to the good part, shall we?)  The email said: “We regret to inform you that your book does not fit our needs at this time… We sincerely hope that you continue writing, and please feel free to query us with future projects.” But I read: “You suck. Your book sucks. And no one will ever have any use for you or this monstrosity you call a manuscript. Please cease and desist with this notion of publishing it because you are o...