I am a pessimist. I don’t think that is a bad thing. Believe me, I know about the power of positivity; I am all for sending good vibes out into the universe. Pessimism fits me, though. To me, my pessimism truly feels like being realistic. I’m just keepin’ it real. I’d rather be pleasantly surprised than sorely disappointed and I cope best when I am keeping my expectations low.
Ten days ago, I did something big. Huge.
I sent my first ever manuscript to a publisher for consideration.
Woah.
I did it. I wrote it. I edited it. I had others critique it. I edited it again. I formatted it. I researched publishers. I found one that set my heart aflutter. I penned my cover letter. I sent it off.
Then, the waiting began.
Most publishers take several months to get back to writers – if they get back to them at all. Often it is simply understood that if you don’t hear from them, they’re not interested.
I have been trying to patiently manage my emotions – and my expectations. I remind myself, chances are I will not get a book published on my very first try. More than likely, they are going to pass, and the next publisher is going to pass, and the next, and the next. This book will probably never get published. Pretty much, I am just waiting for the rejection to happen.
Thanks to my pessimism, I think I will be prepared to cope with that rejection. After all, it is the most realistic outcome.
Still, every once in a while, my mind wanders into the realm of wonderful possibilities and I find myself with a little smile on my face at the thought that maybe, just maybe, they will be interested.
