Rejection sucks. And even when it comes with helpful feedback, it still stings. Earlier this year, I entered The Manhattan Mishap into the Writer’s Digest Self-Published Book Awards. I felt full of hope and happiness as I slipped a paperback copy into the mail. Unfortunately, my novel wasn’t selected to win any awards.
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Omg! One whole year already. Can you believe it? Time is zooming by. My book is turning one, my babies are (almost) turning one, and I’m… not turning anything but more fierce than I was before. Feliz cumpleaños a mi primero libro! Happy first birthday to The Manhattan Mishap.
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My novel and I have been scammed. Not once, but twice. What the hell is going on? My husband says that everything comes in threes, so I guess I’m waiting on the third. Don’t people have anything better to do than to prey on aspiring authoresses? What is their motive?
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