After submitting my book to several agents and publishing companies, I’ve finally been rejected by the last of them. I’m not as disappointed as I thought I might be, since even the best of writers endures this stage of birthing a book. Eventually I’ll self-publish, but in the meantime, I’m setting it aside to rest. Pickle. Fester in its own stew for a period of time.

When the right moment comes, I’ll pick it up again. By then, it will perhaps lend itself better to a bit of adding and subtracting–whittling away at its substance–until it comes closer to what it is I really want to say.

It’s not there yet, but a day will come when it will be.

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