But he don't fall down.

OK, I rallied. Found three new agents last night, two with whom I can establish tenous (even not-so-tenuous) connections, and will spend tomorrow morning sending queries to them all. This novel is good, and it is true to me. I am not a snide, smartypants, Brooklyn whiz kid. I write caring novels about good people in tough situations. The kind of love to read. I have to believe that others might too. Stand up, dust off, walk tall. Happy Monday, all.

Weeble Wobble

Tonight I received my first rejection. This newest round of showing my neck is in service to my new novel, The Tree Museum, for which I've just sent a round of 8 query letters to agents. Two agents--as I knew they would, due to friendly author connections--agreed to read it. To my stomach-churning joy, a third agent emailed on Friday morning saying she'd like to read it as well. Tonight, she said "No."

It's hard. I mean, I'm well aware that this life of mine requires a thick skin, and I think I have one--I told Matt that I'm like a weeble wobble where rejections are concerned. Even a short one like I received tonight--friendly, but curt--can be considered a blessing if I twist and turn it long enough. But it still hurts. This novel--every novel every dreaming novelist writes--is a precious, precious thing. It hurts to have it turned away.

So I'll seek out more agents (there are still 7 great ones in play) and send more queries, and keep believing in this novel, for as long as I can. And if I stop fighting for it, I pray it will be to make way for the next one. I've got some ideas. I don't stay down.