A dear friend of mine recently lost her brother, and I thought it fitting to share this story this week… as a thank you to all brothers out there. Even though we may not always say it, we love you.
My writing story began two years ago when I wrote a cute little memoir entitled “Adventures of a Nobody.” Still unpublished, it was my first attempt in this strange new world and since the beginning, my brother has stood by me, pushed me and encouraged me. Let me take you back in time (Please pop the door on the time-traveling DeLorean, hop into the seat next to me and switch the flux capacitor on.) We’re traveling back to the beginning of my writing story…
This is the day I send out my query letters for my book. Now, if you’re like me, right about now you’re wondering, “What’s a query letter?” Basically, it’s kind of like a resume about yourself and whatever book you might be trying to get published that you send out to literary agents. To be included: a stellar hook, a great synopsis and totally awesome self-promotion. If an agent is interested, they might just ask to see part of your manuscript. Then, if they like what they see, they might sign you and try to get a Publisher to publish your book. But, here’s the rub: having an agent doesn’t guarantee you a book deal. Over the past two years, I’ve learned that many authors spend years with agents and never get their book sold. I have no idea what I’m doing really, but I wrote about four different drafts of a letter and tried to follow all the “expert” advice I got from various resources. I bought some fancy-schmancy paper, designed my own letterhead and enclosed beautiful matching pale orchid-colored stamped return envelopes, which is a must, apparently. (The stamped return envelopes, not that they have to be orchid-colored.) I sent out about 30 of them. At first, I waited with nervous excitement. Then, I finally received one of those beautiful, pale orchid envelopes back…. It was a REJECTION.
Ugh. Oh well. It’s bound to happen. I tried to keep a positive attitude.
It didn’t work out so well for me.
Stupid mail. I hate mail. Especially beautiful, pale orchid, stamped return envelopes addressed to me. Blech. I got my second rejection letter in the mail today. I shouldn’t be upset. I shouldn’t, but I am. I told myself to be prepared for the worst… whatever happens, happens.
But that just sucks rocks. It’s such easy advice to give …but try living it. It’s harder than it sounds. (Big sigh.) Many authors I’ve read about have gotten years of rejection letters… YEARS! So, I shouldn’t get my panties in a bunch just because I’ve gotten a measly two. It’s not the end of the world, right?
It feels like it.
I know I’m being slightly melodramatic. But, on the left hand (the creative one) I’m excited and happy about the fact that I’ve written what I think is a pretty good story. And on the right hand (the uber-critical, boring one), I feel like a big, fat loser amateur who's never going get this obviously unworthy story published.
A complete feeling of dread sinks into my body as I hold my breath and see the pale orchid envelope buried in the stack of useless bills and circulars I grab out of my mailbox. I’ve realized, rather suddenly, that I don’t want to see any more of those beautiful pale orchid envelopes show up at my door. Why? Because they are, in one simple word, a big “NO.”
“N.” “O.” Two little letters that hold so much weight in our world. No. No. No. It stands as a warning when we are in danger. We scream it at our children when they run after a ball into the street, or when they are teetering precariously on the edge of the jungle gym. It can mean you can’t have something. I want cookies. No. I want a new car. No. I want a raise. No.
It is a cry of anguish. Noooo! Seeing a loved one hurt or injured. Hearing horrible news.
It is a murmur of disbelief, of unacceptance…Getting the diagnosis that it is cancer. No. Hearing the news of a loved one’s death. Noooo.
And it is the resounding clang of rejection. Of failure. Of not being good enough. Did I make it? No.
Two little letters.
Two little letters with such big meaning and such drastic effects.
It’s amazing what two letters can mean. So what do those stupid, ugly, sickly purple envelopes mean to me? They mean no. And every time I spot one in my mail, I feel rejected. Again.
I moaned my worries to my brother in an email exchange one day. Then, my big, dumb, stupid-head brother did something...
He made me cry.
Here’s what happened. I told him that I felt that every time a purple envelope shows up at my door, it was a sign of rejection. Here was his response:
“…Cherish the purple notes...they are just reminders that you did something for you. If you try skydiving or run a marathon, you probably won’t get any purple envelopes...so take these as a special bonus for now. As far as I know, nobody gave you a finishers’ medal for writing a book.”
My stupid-head brother made me cry.
At work, even!
So now I do what we should all do. Get back on the frickin’ proverbial horse and try again. Because it’s sooo not the end of the world. It doesn’t mean my story isn’t good enough. It doesn’t mean that I am a failure. It simply means that one person, somewhere in another state, who doesn’t really know me, couldn’t be bothered to take the time to read even the smallest part of my story. Too bad for them. I’ll remember to not meet them for coffee one day.
I think I’ll choose to focus on a couple of other little letters. The letter, “O” and the letter “Z”. Oz. I’ll work on getting there again. Because I have seen it. And it’s a much better place to be than the Notorious Kingdom of No.
I know a lot of people who like to live in the Notorious Kingdom of No. I don’t get why it’s such a popular vacation destination…but it is. Maybe it’s the dripping sarcasm? Or the free insults? Who the hell knows? By now readers, you are obviously aware of my random useless pop culture knowledge and that I love to interject fictional quotes and characters into my everyday conversations. And, unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past 20 years, I’m assuming you get most of them. So here’s another one of my stunning worldly observations about those who dwell in the Notorious Kingdom of No: some people are “Dementors.” You know, those evil Azkaban Prison Guards from the Harry Potter books? Life sucking monsters…they are truly dwellers of the Notorious Kingdom of No. They suck the happiness and life out of us and walk around with a cloud over their head like giant life-sized Eeyores.
You know the kind of people I am talking about...You can say, “Ahh! It’s a beautiful sunny day out today!” And they’ll reply with, “Yeah, but now I have to water my flowers or they’ll dry out, wither and die. I really hate having to drag my garden hose out. It’s so heavy, and then I forget to move the sprinkler, and then it floods my yard…blah blah blah…” Ugh. Most of the time, I let that stuff roll off my back. But sometimes, I just want to send the flying monkeys after them. They are entitled to their crappy attitudes, but I don’t have to let it bother me. Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” I love that. I try to remember that every time someone says something that makes me upset or annoyed. I am in control of my own feelings and emotions. We all have our share of Dementors. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized I have no use for them. We can choose to be around positive people who’ll send us some good energy, or we can choose to be around the Dementors and get the life sucked out of us. It’s a waste of time to spend your life that way. So stop.
I thanked my brother for his kind words about the purple envelopes. His response?
It was typical. You know how boys just about break out in hives and start sweating if someone gets too mushy and nice around them…Here’s what my smarty-pants brother said in reply, “I am just trying to solidify my character if there is a follow-up book/movie. I don’t want to let my fans down. Purely selfish.”
Ha! Typical boy.
But I knew he was full of crap. My brother’s a big old softie at heart. Don’t let the gruff, sarcastic exterior fool you.
And now, let’s jump back into the DeLorean and speed back to 2012. Today, although my first novel (along with those pale-purple envelopes) is temporarily shelved, my second one is now available for world-wide readers… and it would have never got there without my brother. Will people read it? I have no idea. If they read it, will they love it? I have no idea. Will it be a big hit? I have no idea. Am I going to try like hell to make it work? You bet I am.
And if I fail, I know my big, dumb, stupid-head brother will be there to pick me up and make me try again.
And even if we cannot be around our brothers (or sisters, or whomever that special someone is), remember the love. Remember what they would tell us: Try again. Try harder. Be happy. I love you no matter what.
Please check out my new website and BOOK by following the link below:
www.juliecassar.weebly.com