One of my children collected the mail and placed in front of me, an A4 envelope addressed to me in my own hand writing. I open it slowly to find one of my manuscripts returned, as crisp as I had posted it out a couple of months ago.
As a tear swells in my eye, I blink to read yet another rejection letter. I know that soon I will breathe, and the wind that was knocked out of me will return and I will find the courage to re-write and submit again.
The letter is personal and not generic. It states the down fall in my manuscript. They apologise for not being able publish my work.
I guess it is one of the nicer ways to be rejected.
Today I wallow.
Soon I will pull myself out of this pity-party.
I will continue to refine, rewrite, renew, revive, and resubmit.
It’s a journey.