I am the first to admit that I am not as original as I once thought I was. Every clever idea I have come up with in the past decade, the first person I excitedly share it with says something along the lines of, “Oh yeah, I saw that on Pinterest.” What? Really? Before the age of social media, I honestly thought I had completely unique ideas. Now, I know that most things that are thought up have been thought of before. When you consider the fact that there are billions of people in the world, it makes sense that multitudes could organically and independently come up with similar ideas.
This is as true in writing as anything else. At first, I would be disheartened and discouraged when I saw a story on the same topic as one I had just written. Now, I recognize that even though a subject or topic might be the same, what makes each piece unique is the writer — their experiences, perspective, and voice are unlike any other’s.
I have come to not only accept but also expect that any topic I feel compelled to write about has surely been written about before and will definitely be written about again. And I have come to realize that there is nothing wrong with that.
It is one thing, however, to write on the same topic or share a similar story with another writer, it is completely another to flat out steal someone else’s work. Over the past few weeks, time and time again, I’ve been left shaking my head in dismay over some very troubling trends in this area.
25 April 2018
12 April 2018
Rejection Received
Welp. I received a rejection letter for my children's book. I was expecting it because, honestly, what are the odds of my very first manuscript being picked up on my very first query?!? I am a realist.
Still, I was a bit deflated.
The rejection came in the evening, just as we were starting the kids’ school-night routine, and seriously seconds after my husband yelled down to inform me that the cat had peed on our bed.
I was having a great day. Was. Now I just wanted a hot shower and a chocolate milkshake. I didn’t get the milkshake. All I could do was sleep it off – once our bed was all clean and put back together, that is. Whose idea was it to get a cat, anyway? (Hint: It was mine.)
I woke up with resolve.
I expected this rejection. I have a whole list of publishers I think would be a good match for my children’s book. So, I set to the task of drafting more query letters. I submitted to four publishers that allow simultaneous submissions. Though I hardly dare to imagine it being accepted on this second round, I started feeling better once I got it back out there for consideration.
Then, a wonderful thing happened. A friend in my writers’ group reminded me that many aspiring authors never even get to this point. And, I actually began to feel a bit proud of my rejection letter. It is proof that I am putting in the effort. I am doing it.
As Sylvia Plath said, “I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.”
Still, I was a bit deflated.
The rejection came in the evening, just as we were starting the kids’ school-night routine, and seriously seconds after my husband yelled down to inform me that the cat had peed on our bed.
I was having a great day. Was. Now I just wanted a hot shower and a chocolate milkshake. I didn’t get the milkshake. All I could do was sleep it off – once our bed was all clean and put back together, that is. Whose idea was it to get a cat, anyway? (Hint: It was mine.)
I woke up with resolve.
I expected this rejection. I have a whole list of publishers I think would be a good match for my children’s book. So, I set to the task of drafting more query letters. I submitted to four publishers that allow simultaneous submissions. Though I hardly dare to imagine it being accepted on this second round, I started feeling better once I got it back out there for consideration.
Then, a wonderful thing happened. A friend in my writers’ group reminded me that many aspiring authors never even get to this point. And, I actually began to feel a bit proud of my rejection letter. It is proof that I am putting in the effort. I am doing it.
As Sylvia Plath said, “I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.”