I usually love a party. Just go ahead and invite me. I thrill at the whisper of an invitation to celebrate a holiday, birthday, or divorce. Make it a game night, a shower, or a movie premier and I’m there. Promise me desserts and I’ll even agree to help you clean up. As far as having my own parties, I’m afraid I’m the worst at throwing them, but it never stops me from trying. I stock up on the fruity wine coolers, tasty hors d’oeuvres, and I’ve even been known to bake. But a pity party? I usually balk at that guest list.
Not tonight. No, tonight I’m having a party for one, and I didn’t even get cake.
Remember a few months ago, I was so excited to say I got a request for a partial? (In non-writery terms, I was asked to send an agent the first three chapters of my book.) It’s a big deal and I admit it, I celebrated, just a little. I even planned the guest list for my big announcement party for when she wrote back to say she loved it and wanted more. I picked out the dress I would wear at the movie premier when they made my book into a movie. I looked at luxury cruises…celebrity getaways. I shopped for private islands.
And then the excitement wore off a little and I went back to normal. I edited a little. I wrote a little. I blogged a lot.
And I waited.
Days turned into weeks…weeks turned into months…still no reply. But in the literary world, no news is considered good news. So I held onto the hope and I continued to wait. And then, when I least expected it, I got an email.
And that brings me back to my pity party.
Oh, I’ll get over it. It was just one agent…just one “no”. Don’t worry about me. My dreams aren’t dead, they’re just on hold. I’m not ready to give up quite yet. But I hope I can get my deposit back on that private island.
A fellow writer said something to me tonight that really brought it all home for me. She said, “Self-doubt is fuel for the fire of imagination…”
I think that means I need to keep writing.
Until the next time…I’ll be crying in my cake until a new day dawns.