I received another rejection letter today. Not for my music. I've received an awful lot of those of late (which I could wax philosophical about - however I'll save that for another post), but this was for my first novel. This makes sixteen rejection letters over the last thirteen years.
A lot has happened in those thirteen years. An awful lot of stuff. Some of it awful, actually. I never really get my hopes up about publishing the novels. It's too easy to go over the edge of "what if" and lose myself in it. It's better to "keep it real," as the kids would say. But it never really gets any easier, receiving rejection.
It's easy to become jaded or cynical about the prospects of publication. Maybe the fact that I get most of the music I submit published each year, peppered with the occasional rejection here and there, makes it easier to understand why this particular book hasn't been picked up for publication. It has received great reviews on Amazon and people who've read it tell me they like it. But, as the publisher who passed on it today told me, "it's a little too quiet."
And that got me to thinking about the world in which we live. We live in a fast-paced, instant-gratification society in which everything is delivered in 140 characters or less. The world wants fast and easy. I don't fit that particular mold. To be labeled "a little too quiet" is actually quite a compliment to me.
I am a writer. I'm also a teacher, composer, and philosopher. I am a husband and a father. I am a son. I dabble in painting and in calligraphy. I illuminate manuscripts. I mentor young teachers and composers. I am committed to my faith and my faith community. I am all these things and more. And as I look at that list, I understand that none of those particular labels are exactly "loud." Well, perhaps the teacher is, but I have a bunch of kids with noisemakers in my room!
As I settle into my middle aged years, because let's face it, none of us are getting any younger, I embrace the quietude that has surrounded me. My research and my music are just that: mine. I don't write what doesn't interest me, either fictionally, philosophically, or musically. I have the luxury to spend my evenings writing what I want; researching what I want; painting what I want; or burning a few brain cells playing video games.
And as I continue this amazing journey through a life I am just now beginning to realize how very fortunate I am to live, I have to stop and give thanks for all that I have. Not many people can say that they spend their days doing what they love and their evenings doing things that bring them joy. I am blessed and I know it.
It doesn't make the rejection letter any easier to handle. But it does give me hope that somewhere there is a publisher who is looking for a book about a bunch of Critters who deal with some really difficult situations, albeit in a very quiet sort of way. And, if not, that's alright, too. It doesn't mean I'll stop writing.
Peace,
Jeffrey
