Is it Rejection or Redirection?

Nothing is forever and there's a greater plan probably.

The editing trenches are consuming my soul without any hesitation, and I waver in my excitement for the next stages of the manuscript process. It’s actually not that dramatic (but oh, how I do love to lament) because I have the rest of my first draft to completely rewrite. Then there is my second round of edits. And then, I will shelve it for a couple of weeks and return to it with fresher eyes that aren’t strained from blue light, only to give myself another headache when I realise I hate everything and I’m going to rewrite it all.

It shouldn’t be as daunting of a process as it is seeing as this is my fifth manuscript, and editing fears me more than I fear it. Yet there is something scary about what lies beyond the words “The End” because it’s never really over, is it?

I can do what I’ve done with my other books: let the files rot in my Google Drive. This book, like the others that came before it, will live only to be discussed online and my friends will beg to read it to no avail (I cannot bring myself to read the things I wrote at fifteen, let alone allow someone else to read those thoughts).

Or I can do what I’ve dreamt of and pursue some level of publishing, though the sense of impending doom I feel over just considering my options of self-publishing versus traditional publishing makes me want to shut my laptop.

Questions of marketability, TikTok bans, my fear of Instagram Reels, and failure swarm my mind. Oh my god. Failure.

Trad-pub hinges on an literary agent offering representation, then selling your book to a publisher. The premise is entirely hypothetical because there are simply no guarantees that anyone will want to represent you and your novel. You have to pitch your manuscript, sell the marketability potential.

But what if I’m just an Ottessa Moshfegh wannabe who likes writing about angry girls and tragedies and narratives not covered by mainstream contemporary literature because they’re not exactly marketable? Literary fiction as a genre is, by defintion, difficult to define! How do I sum up a book in a single sentence pitch for someone to make a split-second Yes-or-No choice? What if someone doesn’t want to represent me?

Then I guess I just keep querying.

It’s No until it’s a Yes, and all it takes is one Yes. In the Nos lie opportunity for growth of the story and the pitch. This hypothetical rejection isn’t forever, and it certainly won’t define anyone for the rest of their life. It’s comforting to believe that what is meant to be will be.

Maybe the essence of No is Not now or Not this. It doesn’t mean Never! and to shut up and stop trying. It’s a call to acknowledge that there are things greater than what we initially envisioned. And they’re waiting to come to fruition.

I owe it to myself to at least attempt to become everything I’ve dreamed of becoming. I owe myself grace and patience and encouragement. We all owe ourselves the opportunity.