Rollercoasters

I should have expected it.

After a pretty cruddy week (the worse it is, the less likely I am to post any sort of blog), the gods briefly smiled upon me on Monday.

They were small gestures, but really, you'd need to be a pretty self-involved asshole to not take the good things when she show up on your doorstep:

1) A gift of dark chocolate
2) The appearance of Vitamin Water in the Beaches' IGA (I completely sucked back this stuff last time I was in California -- especially the green tea and dragonfruit ones)
3) A reduced price hot beverage (normally rather pricey) at a coffee shop courtesy of a nice employee, who gave me a free refill to boot
4) And most importantly, a mess of back cover copy to write -- 16 books over the next year. Essentially, nearly three months worth of salary (my salary, that is -- not not a normie salary)

I thought the gods were showering me with small blessings given my sucky week.
I should have known better.

The were gearing up to punch me in the belly with a rejection letter -- the only place where I had the tiniest bit of hope about getting published. Sure, the letter was nice and complimentary. But what it should have said was:

"Dear Ms. Guy,

Your writing is moderately decent, but you should have known better to nurture that tiny ball of hope. We're uninterested in publishing your work. Ever.

We'd be happy to attend the funeral for your newly deceased hope. Enjoy yet another reminder of why you're a complete professional failure. Ta!

Love,

Mr./Ms. Publisher"


I know this isn't supposed to be easy. I GET IT.
But god, sometimes I wish the universe could toss be a bone or two at my rapidly shrinking little dream.