So I had this nightmare last night. Seriously. I began recieving rejections from editors we didn't even sub to. My agent and I were standing in front of the computer wondering what the heck was going on and then suddenly we were in a group of editors who were all laughing and pointing. It was like one of those dreams when you're caught naked in school. Totally humiliating.
Someone needs a spa day. Unfortunately, spa days have never been in the budget and with the current turn of economic events, I can't afford to mulch my garden, let alone get a facial.
I knew waiting wasn't good for the writer. Soon, I'll be completely batshit crazy. I have a vision of myself wrapped in mismatched shawls, walking through the streets of Portland, muttering to myself... "Goals, motivation, conflict, goals, motivation conflict..."
Writing careers should should come with a warning label: Caution: Writing novels can cause paranoia, depression and anxiety.
This explains the high percentage of alcoholism in famous writers.