Can I Still Write A Book? by Liz Flaherty #RomanceGems

Yesterday I submitted a proposal for an imprint I've never written for before, although it's not a different publisher or a different editor. I'm so enjoying the writing that I went beyond the "first three" that traditionally goes with a proposal. Although I hated the required synopsis, that's not a big deal--I hate all synopses, including everyone else's. I wrote what I called (with some embarrassment) a "scrap-paper" proposal for a series that would stem from this book. I just suggested two additional books. In truth, I really only want to commit to one, but I can do two. Any more than that worries me because I'm slow anymore--I'm not sure about...well, you get that.

I don't know how many books I've had published. Writing novellas and the occasional short story for box sets or anthologies confuses the count for me, so I always just say "20-some" and let it go at that. They have almost all been fun, especially in these later years of worrying every time if this will be the last book. I am a hybrid author, but I prefer traditional publishing. For two reasons I can pinpoint--one being that that was where I "cut my teeth" and the other being that I hate promotion and marketing all the way to the bottom of my soul.

The infodump above is so you'll understand what I'm really here to talk about. It's about how different having a project rejected feels when you are many years into a career. It wasn't just any project, but one I poured months of working, a great deal of heart, and a pinch of my soul into. I loved the story. I loved Banjo Creek. I revised the proposal in ways my editor suggested and sent them back. I liked them. He liked them. 

The senior editor did not. The rejection didn't invite me to try the same story again, although they did urge me to send them more ideas. 

This isn't different, is it? Or it shouldn't be. Most of us have dealt with professional rejection at some point. But even knowing that, this was was different. I hadn't been that devastated in years. And I shouldn't have been. Several months later, I still can't fully understand why I was. Except that it planted a seed--no, something bigger, maybe a bulb--in the back of my mind that maybe I could no longer write books.

I am a professional, so after considerable cursing, wailing, and threats of quitting (maybe I'm exaggerating...), I sat back down to write. I have not stopped.

But it left a mark. I've never been over inundated with self-confidence anyway, and this hit was hard and relentless and the feeling of failure hasn't gone away even though I've released another book and written a couple of novellas and today, finally, sent out a proposal for a series. 

At the end of the day, and at the end of this too-long post, I have to own my fear of failure and admit that there are parts of being a published author that haven't changed a lick in the 20-some years I've been one. I don't know whether I want to curse and wail again 😭 or if I should suck it up and be grateful to still be in this business that I sometimes hate almost as much as I love. 

Thanks for listening!