In the aftermath of not getting through to semi-final round of the ABNA contest, I finally summoned the courage to read my Publisher's Weekly reviewer's notes...which bummed me out even more. seriously harsh.
So, though I've had little moments of high-flying happiness, I'm still wading more in the shallow end of the feeling-blue pool...maybe up to my armpits as I squat (and pout) in the shallow end of the feeling-blue pool, wallowing in self-pity.
My husband, who is also a writer, tells me to buck up and let the criticism roll off. He knows what it is like to have his work attacked harshly. He knows what it means to learn from the experience and move on. He knows what it takes to swallow your pride and rewrite.
I used to be better at that, but I haven't been in a critical writers' group in a while. So, my skin has softened.
Yesterday, I was browsing Barnes&Noble and was feeling bummed and was letting myself be pessimistic. "I'll never get published!" my mind sobs. :(
It's okay, the other side of me tells myself.
A constant battle between two sides: one that supports the dream and one that rains all over it.
Meanwhile, I search my imagination for ways to improve the sequel. To write better. To write a character who is more relatable. To write a book that is more inspirational.
Also meanwhile, I am encouraged by the people who have read my book and have asked for more. It's heartening and much welcomed.