I had another rejection yesterday. Not a big surprise though; this firm was a long shot. Still, I had to wallow in the requisite five minutes of self-pity, followed by a quick burst of nagging self-doubt, and then end it with my usual fallback of, “F**K ’em all” (while still secretly wishing those cool kids would finally let me in their treehouse).
My spiral of negativity was cut short by my newest personal rock star, Steve Malley, who popped in to point me in the direction of a new agent who just might tolerate my hyperverbosity. Now, Steve didn’t have to do that. In fact, he didn’t have to think of me at all–I’m sure he had better things to do (at least I hope so). But, he did. And that made me remember how nice it is to have friends in my current business of currently not doing business. So, thanks, Man.
I have come to accept that Resonance may not be my starter novel. I wholly believe it is publishable, but it may not be the one to get my foot in the door. I’m not ready to shelve it, yet, because eight rejections really isn’t so many. Still, I’ve broadened my view and am no longer pinning every one of my hopes on that one novel. The new book has been started in earnest and I’m looking to make it shorter and more mainstream-friendly than Resonance. If this new one gets my foot in the door, so be it. Either way, I’ll have an additional finished novel ready for round two, whenever it happens.
Tomorrow is my trip to Philly to see Ministry in their final tour. For one last time my eardrums will be blown, and, I suspect, so will my mind. My excitement is mixed with a profound sadness; after the last encore of the night there will be no more albums, no more concerts. The stage will go dark and thirty years of ass-kicking music will come to an end. Al Jourgensen is now my fallen god and all is wrong with the world.
Gee, I hope I don’t forget to buy a tee-shirt.