But I found the most effective antidote to excitement. It's the reason I haven't been focusing on the fact that it's already May and that my very first booksigning is next week. For anyone who needs a nail-biting experience to take the edge off of your otherwise blissful life, enter the Delacorte Press Contest for a First Young Adult Novel. The deadline is December 31, and then they announce the winner AROUND April 30.
Around, being the key word. I gave myself until April 30 to hold out any hope that by some impossible miracle, I could make some kind of impression. Two days ago I found a thread online talking about people's experiences with other years, and this year's contest. A couple days ago I was pumped. The last rejections were sent out last week, and then nothing. Then yesterday, they started dropping like flies again. More rejections. And so I'm convinced now, it's only a matter of time before I get mine, too.
For a long time I would check the mailbox HOPING for a rejection letter so that I could move on and stop hoping for something better. But no, it couldn't be that easy. I am going to have to wait until after the contest deadline to find out that I didn't win. Dang it. And I'm one of those fools that can't put the thing down until the rejection letter is in my hands. Subconciously I hold out hope until the very last second even though my logical side is sick and tired of it.
I'm kind of psychotic that way. I tell myself everyday that I lost, but then bubbling up from the depths of my naivity is that glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe there is more for me in that great big world.
So, I'm still in rehab. I haven't got the rejection letter to finally put me out of my misery. Ironic, isn't it. How many people actually WANT a rejection letter?
Wait, I hear that little voice again, I don't want a rejection letter, I want a miracle!
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