rejection | BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye

Remember your eighth grade dance? We called them sock hops. I say eighth grade because it was late enough in the game so you didn’t go to dances just to run around and play with your friends, but early enough (for most of us) so you weren’t real confident about your appeal to the opposite sex. What was the one thought that haunted you?

What if no one asks me to dance?

Well, here I am a forty-something struggling writer with thirteen novels under my belt and I find myself confronted by the same exact thought. It’s not a sock hop this time, though, and it’s not my sex appeal that worries me. But still…

What if no one asks me to dance?

You see I’m starting an email list intended to promote my books, my poetry, my blog—my art. But what if no one signs up for it? What if my effort is rejected and I become a pretty little wallflower that no one wants to dance with?

And yet, that’s the chance all artists take when they put themselves and their work out there. You might be rejected. You probably will be, actually. If you believe enough, you persevere.

So, to sweeten the deal a bit and make it less likely that I’m left standing in the corner while everyone dances around me, I’m adding a little weight to the scales. Sign up for my email newsletter before January 1 and you’ll be entered in a drawing for a $50 Amazon gift card, the winner of which will be announced in the first newsletter. If you’ve already signed up, you’re already entered. Here’s the link to my landing page for you to sign up: Email List Signup.

So go ahead, ask me to dance. What have you got to lose?

So today I got a second rejection on my romantic fantasy novel, Out of Time. It’s the first book in a planned trilogy. I had hoped to return to the world of traditional publishing for these books, but I’m starting to think it might not happen.

No, that’s not bitterness.

It’s resignation.

So when I’d written my polite note of thanks to the sweet editor who took the time to write my rejection (complete with a compliment on my writing and style), I started thinking about what to do with the lemons I’d been handed.

And I’ve never been much for making lemonade.

When life hands you a slightly spotty lemon, create a still life on your bookshelf with it.

Labyrinth II continues…

Sarah woke in the darkness and her very first thought was for Davey. She sat up, an afghan sliding from her shoulders as she did so. Voices in the hall warned her and she lay back quickly. A moment later, the door opened and someone looked in.

“She’s still out.”

“You think she’s okay, though?”

Her husband and her father. She felt guilty about deceiving them, but she couldn’t really help it. She had to get to the Labyrinth. She had to find Toby and force him to return her son. That wouldn’t happen if she couldn’t get out of the house, though.

“She’s fine, son. You were right to call me.” The tone of worry in her father’s voice almost made Sarah flinch, but then the door shut and their voices grew fainter.

She sat up again, looking for her backpack. There it was, on the chair. She slipped out of the bed, found her boots and a light jacket, and tucked everything under her arm, ready to leave.

“You think all the preparations in your world can prepare you for another stint in mine, Sarah?” His voice slid from the mirror in a silvery shard.

She turned slowly, knowing she’d meet those mismatched eyes in the mirror, the ones that saw into her very soul, the only ones that could still see the frightened but determined fourteen-year-old girl she’d once been. The one who’d lost Toby in the first place because she’d been too self-involved and thoughtless to believe her own actions had consequences.

By that token, Davey’s disappearance could be traced directly back to her.

“Jareth.” She took a deep breath. “Tell Toby I’m coming for him. He can’t take my son and get away with it.”

“You once said that about a stuffed bear, if I remember correctly.” He tented his fingers below his chin in the reflection, grinning a lopsided grin at her. “You had second thoughts about that, I think.”

“Well, it won’t happen now.” She turned to the bedroom door.

“You won’t get there that way, Sarah.” He laughed. “But I can help you.”

“Why would you help me?” She gave the mirror a scornful look over her shoulder.

He shrugged. “Maybe because I enjoy the game as much as you.” His grin faded. “Or maybe because your brother has pissed me off and it’s time to teach him a lesson.”

Sarah did a double-take, hearing the sincere irritation in his voice. She turned all the way around and gave him her full attention. “I’m listening.”