First Rejection Letter

img_5904

Over my past twelve years of writing as a hobby, I’ve received over 100 rejection letters or emails. I wrote or emailed publishers my picture books and novels. None of them are as memorable as my first rejection. In 2008, I sent my first version of VERVE STONES to several publishing houses.

To prepare, I bought a book at Barnes and Noble about how to submit a children’s book. I researched synopses, cover letters, and query letters. All these were new terms for me. Each one took me a month to write.

Every publisher requires something different for a submission. One might want a query letter and the first three chapters of a manuscript. Another needs a synopsis and cover letter. The next will read a query and the first ten pages. You get the idea. Most only read them if sent by mail. A few via email.

Sometimes the publishing houses will mail rejection letters in self-addressed stamped envelope prepared by the submitter. Usually in three to six months. Less use emails. Some inform submitting authors that their answer is no if three months pass. Many publishers only review submissions from agents, which is a whole nother beast.

When I finally dropped off an armful of letters and envelopes at the post office, I wanted to throw a party. From that moment on, I checked the mail every day. Twice on Saturday. I refreshed my email page every hour. No joke. I filled my free time daydreaming about a publisher calling me to offer me a hundred times the normal $5,000 authors received when they signed a new contract.

Around that time the final HARRY POTTER book released. I read an article wondering where the next HARRY POTTER book would come from. I vowed it would be VERVE STONES. I still feel that way.

Finally, I received my first rejection in the mail! To this day it is my only personalized letter. A nameless employee at Houghton Mifflin wrote out, Dear Mr. Aries, double underlined, thank you, sorry, and every success. My favorite part of the postcard-sized rejection is a handwritten message in the bottom corner that says, “Great writing & pace. Best of luck with Spoon!”

I’m still waiting to get my stories published with a publishing house. I’ve moved on to self-publishing, which has its pros and cons. But whenever I’m feeling like a crummy writer who will never become a full-time author, I repeat, “Great writing & pace. Best of luck with Spoon!” as a mantra to keep myself motivated.

Do you have your own rejection story? What keeps you going when you feel discouraged?

Advertisements

Bracing Myself for February

james_mom

My mom died on February 15, 2015. Hard to believe it’s been nearly three years. Missing her comes in waves, chance moments, and random memories. A few of these times bury me. Most of them leave me in a gloomy mood.

Mom died at the age of 57 from an aggressive case of Huntington’s Disease. Mom loved family, friends, baking, gardening, sunbathing, reading, and visiting our family’s cabin. My friends insisted we hang out at my house because of Mom. She kept a spotless home, the cupboards were filled with snacks, and a fire blazed in the stove ten months a year. The lemon bars, fresh bread, cookies, cinnamon rolls, banana bread, and various others baked goods cooling on our counter didn’t hurt either.

My sister, Chrissa, and I learned to adore sweets, family time, and holidays from Mom. Mom loved Christmas most of all. Each December, the three of us would drive through town hunting for decorated houses, watching Christmas movies, and helping her fill bags of baked goods to be given as presents.

Like I mentioned above, Mom loved to read. Mystery and Romance were her preferred genres. She always had a book in hand at home, at the cabin, or on vacation. I won’t say her reading directly influenced me to write. I can say Mom would’ve loved reading my sorties. I’m certain NINTH NIGHT would be her favorite. The story is a romantic mystery that is set in Cannon Beach, a place she enjoyed to vacation.

I survived her passing because she accepted Jesus as her savior. During the weeks, days, and hours leading to her death, I repeated, “New body in Christ,” each day I witness HD deteriorate her body. The promise that I’d see Mom in heaven kept her death from crushing me. Barely. The same promise allows me to move forward each day without her in my life. Or my daughter’s life.

Miss you, Mom!
PS If you wish to donate to the Huntington’s Disease Society of America just click the link.