Post-Querying emotions: Tummy Butterflies Died then came back Alive

Warning: This post is (overly) emotional. I’ve warned you, so please do excuse me.

I recall bragging for a while that if I get rejected by an agent I’d accept it with a smile, simply glad that I took this initiative.

I have never been more wrong.

There is so much emotion put into the process of Preparing-To-Query and sending out the query letters, that I now know why some writers break down when rejected.

I went to campus to pick up my History Paper, and seeing that I did very well on it, I became all optimistic. I thought: today is my day, today is the day I can conquer the world. So with much confidence I went to the library at my university to start emailing my first batch of query letters. Yeah, I couldn’t even wait to get home to do this. Three hours later I was still sitting in front of the computer. With icy, trembling fingers. There was a void in my chest when I sent my last letter.

For half an hour afterwards I wandered the streets. How well the weather reflected my mood. A veil of rain was falling from the gloomy blue sky. In my mind I kept thinking to myself that I probably formatted my cover letter wrong (the query letter, sample chapters, and synopsis). But more than this, I was disturbed by the newness of the stage I had stepped into. I’ve been in the writing-and-revising phase for so long that to move out of this comfort zone was totally unsettling.

When I wrote the Pre-Querying post I was so certain that what I wrote in Post-Querying blogpost would be brimming with triumph.

But no.

Needing to settle my overly sensitive nerves, I stepped into a coffee shop to get a drink. I sat down and stared at my Chai Latte (my new obsession thanks to Rowenna) for a long long long time. I wanted to curl into a ball and sob. The reality of publishing finally struck me. By querying it meant I wanted an agent to expose my manuscript to the world. Expose my heart. How would the world accept it? Would they love it? Would the hate it? Or even worse—would they not even notice it? I was filled with so much self-doubt. I came to the point where I asked myself if publishing was worth all the effort.

Something inside me, in a quiet voice, answered: Yes.

After that I put all considerations of putting an end to my aspirations aside. Silly goose, I called myself, you need to grow up, you need to move on, you need to be strong. Embrace the challenge.

Ah. Now that I’ve put my feelings down into words I feel MUCH better. Yes, writing is indeed therapeutic. Now I feel light enough to go prancing about once more.

Nothing will deter me from Let[ting] The Words Flow!