Like a Roller Coaster

Dunno.  Maybe it’s hormones.  Maybe it’s just life.  But these past weeks I’ve been vacillating between giddy-happy and morose “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

“Boing, there she goes” triggers include everything from politics, New Zealand (poor Christchurch), Japan (sigh, poor Japan), to our lovely New Mexico spring.

Nothin’ makes my goonier than publishing.  Saw the release of my first book, The Music of Chaos.  Immediately wondered if I’d lost my mind by letting the world see what a dog-awful writer I am.  Got a couple of good reviews. Up. Then, back down the rabbit hole of gloom, when I realize that every other author out seems to know how to promote.  “Doomed, doomed, my book is doomed.” (Cue those really great ominous drums from the Mines of Moria in Fellowship of the Ring.)

Meanwhile, The Canvas Thief was out in submission land.  I love this story.  It’s my first attempt at writing romance.  Except I couldn’t get it to fit the usual romance model. (Heroine and hero don’t meet until, gasp, chapter four.) Revised and revised, but couldn’t get them to meet earlier. Just felt too forced.

But out I sent it, anyway.  A couple of weeks pass, but I’m not thinking about it, nope.  Too early.  But at the month mark, I get twitchy.  This market rejected my previous sub in a quick month. Now I’m starting to cautiously open my email

“So what does this mean?” I wonder.  “No rejection? Has it passed a hurtle?”  Several more weeks go by and now I’m opening my email with my eyes closed. This market does The Call.  So an email means–Buzz!–Rejection.  I’m peeling open one eye at a time, squinting at my new mail.

At this point, I’m going from hope– “They’re considering it!” –to dispair– “The rejection came weeks ago and you accidentally deleted it, you twit.”

Finally, I come home from work today, open my email (eyes closed), and find an email from the publisher.  “Well, shit.”  Open it expecting the usual, “Thank you, not right for us,” and miracle of miracles, it’s an acceptance.  Turns out I did get the call. Which, I not only missed (stoopid gainful employment), but I am unaware of because I never check the answering machine.

Now, I’m worried that the contract have some awful provision. What if, what if, what if?

Yeah, I’m loopier than a box of fruity cereal.  Time to head outside, into the sun, for an attitude adjustment from the horse.  (He doesn’t suffer fools lightly.)