Thankfulness is what drives this season of writing. I am thankful for my literary agent championing the story we believe in as we eagerly await a publishing house to say yes. I truly believe it will come soon. How soon? Only God knows. The kids are cheering me on as we wait, expecting a positive response. I love their enthusiasm and involvement in the process, teaching them that faith takes grit, and that all aspects of a dream aren’t fully in our control. At this point, I can’t do anything but trust the process.
I was eight in the Brushy Mountains of North Carolina where my siblings and I had gotten over chicken pox. My mom rubbed on calamine lotion, ran warm oatmeal baths, and hit rewind on the worn-out copy of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast we all could sing by heart at week’s end. Soothed by the creek, and the cooking of our great aunt Hessie, (with whom we were staying), we survived the tumultuous week and were grateful.
Since last summer, I have pitched my third manuscript twenty-seven times to potential literary agents. Twenty-six times I have either been ghosted or formally rejected. At first, this process was very hard. Rarely does the reply (if any, at all) give insight into the rejection, but when there is a bit — it is gold!