I’m sitting in my “writing chair” with my dog Ernie snuggled up to my leg. I know if I ever replace this poor old chair, it will definitely have to be big enough for the two of us, but that won’t happen until the royalty checks start rolling in. And at the rate I’m going, I’ll probably be forced to buy a “throw” to cover up the poor thing.
While I write this, there is another activity happening in the living room. My husband is attempting to play with our uppity cat Vinnie. Ken is crawling around on the floor, trying to pet him and just when Ken gets close enough to do so, Vinnie scoots away. After three attempts to stroke the animal, I finally intervene and chastise the cat, saying that “Daddy” just wants to love him. As if he understands, Vinnie finally gives Ken permission to stroke him before he vanishes under the bed. (I hope you know that it’s Vinnie that hides under the bed, not Ken. Sorry for the pronoun reference problem there.)
As I watch this scene, I think how ironic. This little play between the two of them has captured how I feel as I try to move into the “big leagues” with my novels. The publishers are the cat and of course, I’m playing the needy human who is trying to persuade the ever allusive animal to let me get close. Yeah. That’s exactly how I feel. You know what I mean?
So, the next time I receive a rejection letter, I’m going to remember this scene between Ken and Vinny. It will be easier to take because I know the eventual outcome. The haughty publisher will finally embrace me and we’ll live happily ever after.