I’ve been keeping a secret. Two weeks ago, I submitted my query letter to a publishing company, along with the required first three chapters of Fairview Infected. This novel will be pitched to a handful of other publishers as well, and the brutal truth is that it will—in all likelihood—be rejected.
It’s the inevitable outcome that I won’t want to report, so perhaps if I don’t announce my attempt, I won’t ever have to tell anyone about the failure.
Waiting for a reply is nauseating, because I know the odds are always against the new author. It’s the feeling you get when your team is down by three touchdowns in the last quarter. It’s not impossible to win at that point, but it’ll take some crazy act of football fumbling fate.
But that also means there’s a glint of hope. A chance for the underdog to win one.
That’s where I sit now, while I work on my next novel, as well as random short stories for anthology publications. I keep writing. I keep working. I keep submitting and I hope. I hope for someone to be crazy enough to say, “Yes.”