I got another one of those dreadful skinny envelopes with my own handwriting on it today. A form rejection from a query for "The House of Many Doors."
I think it's the universe's way to keep me present and grounded, to counter the hot-air-balloon-feel-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach because 2 prospective agents are currently reading the full for that self-same novel.
My job now is to let the process unfold as it will. The manuscript is both literally and figuratively out of my hands. The agents either will or will not feel they can sell the story. I have no control over that.
My mantra these days: Write the best story I know how to write.
The rest is not up to me.
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