I relented and decided to pay to review my files, and fix them accordingly, if they can. The sales woman was very nice, and I’m glad they provide this service, even if I am disheartened that I have resorted to using it. People pay publishers and editors everyday. So why do I feel like such a failure? I thought I could do this on my own. And I probably could, but it would take time and possibly some angry swear words at my pdf files.

A lot of aspiring authors become melancholy upon receiving rejection letters. It was never my plan to go that route, as I am a self-proclaimed control freak. I think that if self-publishing was made for someone, it was made for me. But if I had gone that traditional route, getting rejection letters wouldn’t bother me so much. I know a lot of  people aren’t like me in that way. Authors can be a sensitive lot; their weakness is their strength. The only thing that might bother me is waiting around and the cruel inefficiency of it.(People think that I’m a robot, but they haven’t met my boyfriend. I am the coldest human, and he is the warmest machine-my sexy robot.) When it comes to rejection, in this hypothetical scenario, either my work wasn’t a right fit for their brand, or they’re idiots. That would be my understanding. It couldn’t be because my writing is bad, because I know it isn’t. I’m not the smartest, but I do know my weaknesses, and I know my strengths, which is more than I can say about some of the smartest people I’ve met.

In the world of business, people outsource all the time. It’s part of what makes this global economy so efficient, if only the Trump administration could see this. I know.. I’m not supposed to bring up politics while building my brand, but as an artist I’m also supposed to present the truth. And also, I don’t really care if you don’t like me, so I take my apology back. (I do care if you like me, however. I’d like to nurture that relationship) But at the end of the day, I’m not writing for you. I’m writing for myself. If money happens to accrue, that would be nice, but I’m not holding my breath. And  I want quality friends, not a large quantity anyway.

I think I feel a sense of failure, because I have had to let go, and because I consider myself to be someone with a cool demeanor-someone who sits and solves problems. I couldn’t solve this one as quickly as I would have liked. It’s all good. When I’m holding a print edition, matte cover book in my hands, I won’t be feeling this little pit in my stomach. I’ll be breathing a sigh of relief, because I will know that I’ve been true to myself, even if it felt like, for a moment, that I wasn’t, because I know that just because you feel something, it doesn’t make it so.




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