
Cinderella, I’m not— a fairy tale
I was in the parking lot of Target when I read the email. I didn’t cry; I didn’t even really feel sad. No visceral gut punch or jolting insult to my ego — just disappointment. It made perfect sense, really, that my very first proposal for my very first book was rejected by the very first agent to read it. No one would truly expect otherwise. But, yeah, I hoped.
Thirty-two days earlier, when I submitted the proposal, I would have (and may have) told you that this submission was the first step on a very long road, one riddled with potholes and potential detours. I even argued (with myself) that the agent’s request to “see more” could be nothing more than a delayed rejection (“sure send me your writing and then I’ll tell you ‘no thanks’”). But like every female who grew up in the ’70s, I have enough of a princess complex lingering within me to hope to be a Cinderella story with a fairy tale ending. Secretly I went so far as to daydream about how my life might change — you know, lear jets, talk show appearances, my own bodyguard to separate me from all the little people.
I’m here to tell you that 32 days later, I’m no different, albeit a little deflated. The glass slipper didn’t fit. Ellen is not going to be my bestie. I’m still flying coach. And to thoroughly mix as many metaphors as possible: the road ahead seems longer than ever.
So for an hour I wandered numbly through Target, criss-crossing the store, tossing random items into my cart. Every other aisle or so, I’d feign interest in a nutritional label or attempt to calculate the number of bagels we’d need for the coming week. It seemed to reinforce my “okay-ness” that I was still concerned about the nutrition and abundance of my family’s pantry.
I managed to restrain myself in the cookie aisle and only pulled two bottles from the wine shelves, thank you very much. Later that evening, wine in hand and cookies next to me, I let myself reflect on the agent’s words a bit more. And I let myself really feel sad. It does suck. It does hurt. It means I have a lot more work ahead.
And, as rejection letters go, it was a really nice one. I’m actually disappointed that it’s an email rather than typed on embossed letterhead suitable for framing. She said she appreciated the two perspectives, calling it balanced and interesting. She commended me on injecting my personality into the sample she read. She thanked me for sharing a deeply personal story and apologized for passing along such disappointing news. The message closed with good wishes for my future.
So, on the whole, a very nice first rejection letter. Perhaps I’ll use it as my screensaver.
And in the grand scheme of things, this girl’s got a fairy tale life — I’ve had my Prince Charming and we fought the dragon together.
I’ve lived through worse. Much worse.
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