So I came home to my sixth rejection for this month, and there are no morale boosting publications in my 'forthcoming' folder, so of course I'm thinking about chucking it all in and investing my sense of identity in something infinitely more doable than writing, something like winning an Olympic gold medal in some sport I have yet to take up, or saving the planet from greenhouse gasses, or building a FTL spaceship in my backyard.
But even as I'm swearing that this time I really really mean it, this time I'm really really over this heart-crushing writing business, a part of my brain is already planning my comeback and telling me that hey, that story will be snapped up for sure if you send it to publication XYZ or ABC, and you know if you just rejig that other rejected story, maybe drop a few hundred words from it, why, for sure there'll be worldwide bidding wars for it, and you know, some of those rejections were nice encouraging ones so you can't be all bad, and ...
Blah, blah, angsty blah.
Incurable.
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