The Rejection Generator Project: if only I had known

I remember too well the sting of those first rejection letters.
I thought I was prepared.
Fellow writers had told me I'd be swimming in them before I got my first contract offer from an agent.
So I cleared a wall for their display, a means of confronting rejection head-on and with pride.
Still, it hurt.
But it hurt only the first few times.
After a while, I became numb to automatic rejections and I learned the value of the personal notes, which sometimes came with feedback. I even came to miss them when I finally signed with an agent nearly three years ago, eagerly searching my inbox for strays.
I have since parted ways with my agent and returned to the hunt.
I knew I would have to endure those early stings again, so I steeled myself and fired away the first few query letters. I waited weeks, sometimes months, never knowing when I would open my inbox and read those words that pierced my heart and soul.
Too late, I learned it didn't have to be that way.
I could have been rejected on my own terms with the negativity self-inflicted, expected, hard-hitting from the start. I could have beaten myself up five times in one day and gotten the whole thing over with, numbed myself immediately instead of waiting, waiting and waiting..
I could have -- no, I should have -- used The Rejection Generator Project.  
I will tell you no more.
Check it out.
Spare yourself.
Be warned though, it can be addicting even for those who already have agents or publishers. 

The panini generation

I'd like to modify the analogy of our age group as the "sandwich" generation.
It just doesn't work.
Too many good sandwiches come on soft, tasty bread.
The bread is actually quite delicious and satisfying.
The way I've been feeling lately is more like panini -- my precious bread crushed by two thick slabs of hot metal that are squeezing the melted cheese out of me, searing us all and permanently charring our skin.
I'm not even there.
My parents are a good 1,000 miles away and our youngest brother is taking the full brunt of it.
But the past couple of weeks, I've been on the phone or on email dealing with doctors, social workers, case managers, directors, our parents and other family members all while trying to keep the household going and lamely pacifying my kids when they come home and I'm too busy to hear about their days.
And writing?
Forget it.
This is the first chance I've had to write anything.
I miss it.
It is getting better.
My mother is improving and my father has been stable for a long time.
But that grill is still there, threatening.
And it can be cruel and deceptive.
There was, for instance, a moment when the pressure eased and I rolled over to survey the damage to the other slice of bread.
Just then the grill gave me one more hard, heated squeeze, nearly suffocating me with the pressure to make up for all I've neglected, especially the kids.
Book reports were due. Easter was looming. The twins wanted to roller skate in the house.
Fortunately, I am not alone in this sandwich.
Two other strong hands reached out and pushed back the grill, helping me fluff the bread, tending to it in magical ways, making it soft once again.
I found that the bread is tougher than it had seemed. The heat had not broken it down and the char marks could be scraped away.
My kids still love me.
They didn't starve.
They made their school deadlines.
The Easter bunny will make an appearance on time.
And the twins have not convinced me to let them roller skate in the house.
Thank goodness for those two other hands.
Here's the thing though.
Despite it all, I still love panini.
Especially the bread.    

The Voice: an interview with its youngest fans

My husband and I have never been big fans of reality TV shows.
No Bachelor or Biggest Loser or American Idol for us.
We're sit-com people.
We strive to escape reality at the end of the day, not live someone else's.
But, for some reason, we got hooked on The Voice.
It was our own little secret last year, our private indulgence.
We'd record it when it aired and wait until the kids were all in bed.
Then we'd pull out a bottle of wine and enjoy.
It was a wonderful season.
So we were thrilled to return to our routine when the second season began after the Super Bowl. I even saved a good Merlot for the occasion and bought my husband his favorite hefeweizen, anxious to become immersed in the world of Adam, Cee Lo, Christina and Blake.
Then, about halfway through the second night of auditions, the inevitable happened.
One of our 5-year-old identical twins, Jonathan, sneaked down the stairs, unable to sleep and slipped into the recliner with his father.
Minutes later, he was in love with The Voice.
The Voice has since become a family affair with the twins and their older siblings all eager to watch.
Jonathan and his twin, Matthew, are so enamored, they sing the theme song constantly. After listening to it over and over again on the way to preschool and back today, I decided to interview them about their latest passion.
Here it is:

The learning curve

Way back in the old days when I was I was still a querying virgin, I stumbled upon an online discussion about the number of novels writers completed before they were published.
A talented few were published immediately.
Most had written two or three books before their writings went public.
But a surprising number kept writing even after half a dozen novels were rejected.
I scoffed.
That will never be me, I thought.
If the first novel wasn't published before the second one was finished, I was sure I would have deemed myself a failure. All the stamina would be gone, all the excitement, the fervor, the self-confidence. There was no way I could go on.
Yet here I am working on my third novel while the other two have yet to see a bookshelf.
And what shocks me is that I am more confident, more excited, than ever before.
This is why.
The first published novel sets the tone for a writer's career. It also starts the timer for the completion of another work and then another and then another. The pressure is on and learning curves can be incredibly dangerous if they are taken too fast.
Those who want to make careers of writing cannot afford to make mistakes early on.
At least not publicly.
I made mistakes and, thankfully, they were neither permanent nor public.
Better yet, I learned from them.
Like so many before me, I was too excited by my first novel to sit on it for a while. I rushed into queries before all my beta readers had finished. When the verdict came in, the errors were glaringly obvious to me. I couldn't believe I had queried it.
I cut characters, revised the first half and tried again.
It worked.
But then came more mistakes.
I signed with an agent who was not a good fit for me. I wrote my second novel too fast. I approached my third novel with sales figures in mind instead of focusing on the story I wanted to tell. I was letting ego overrule passion.
Again, I stepped back and re-evaluated.
I needed to slow down.
I terminated my contract with my agent and started the hunt again, taking a more cautious approach this time around. I revised my second novel and entered the first novel into a contest that targets the appropriate agent/publisher audience for its genre.
I ditched several chapters of my third novel and started over again, being true this time to my desire to write a mystery that is both suspenseful and worthy of the term "literary."  I am so much happier and my passion has recovered its strength.
With two completed novels and a third underway, I have more choices and more experience.
I learned a great deal about the business in my two years with my first agent, who is wonderful person and was always willing to talk with me about such things. I am not sure precisely where I want to take my career, but I know where I don't want to be.
And, in this business, that knowledge is equally important.
I look back at that woman who scoffed at the thought of banking completed novels and try to see her with a sense of humor. At the time, I also thought I had a pretty good handle on parenting with two young kids close in age.
Then came a surprise set of twins.
The twins have taught me that I have a lot to learn and that the learning never ends.
Writing multiple novels has provided the same kind of lesson. Balance is key in this business just as it is in every other aspect of life. With each mistake, I have gained confidence -- confidence that has led to positive change. That confidence comes not with perfection, but with the ability to see and correct those mistakes and to learn from them.
The twins opened my eyes as a parent.
The novels opened my eyes as a writer.