I got my first rejection email yesterday. It was...brutal. Sad. Harsh. Polite.
I mean, I've known it was coming. There's no way I won't get rejected by a gazillion agents before I (hopefully) get accepted. I get it.
But still. It hurt.
I didn't cry, so that was good. But I did have a little self-pity-pout. Luckily, we're with family this weekend, so I had to keep my chin up and I had some great distractions.
But still. It was sad.
This morning I woke up with a head full of a new short story. I sat up in bed and started typing, and had written just a few paragraphs when Zoe came into the room.
"Mommy," she said. "I have a story about my dream last night. There was a zebra and a giraffe, and they had boo-boos..." She went on to tell me about taking them to the hospital for Band-Aids and that they were orphans without mommies and daddies and so on and so forth.
Then she said, "And I have another story in my head, too, Mommy."
I am so not rejected. At least not today. Not while my daughter and I both wake up with heads full of stories. Because that's a great start to a day.