Well this morning I was reading about the attack on Pam vanHylckama, an agent who was attacked by a disgruntled psychotically-unhinged rejected writer. At first I was horrified, re: W T Heck!? Then I was angry for her and that we live in a world where people are abused and assaulted. My third thought was, I hope I never get that confident in the divine perfection of my own prose.
Personally, every time I get a rejection I tend to think, Yeah. She’s right. And I a little bit think, Isn’t it funny how I was pretending to be a writer these past few years? Then I chill and go back and rework my manuscript a little. I also accidently… all the chocolate.
I cannot imagine being so convinced of my all-powerful writerly-ness that if someone rejected me, I would decide there was something wrong with them and I should therefore stalk them and assault them. Now I’m sure this guy is dealing with issues far more serious than inflated ego, but the thought remains, I hope I never become so in love with myself that I feel the need to unleash my inner demons.
No agent needs me to track her down and dump her satchel out all over the sidewalk. Or maybe if I were really mad, I would lecture her for an hour while she cried. No one needs to experience that. It’s best if my confidence remains safely where it is. That way, the only person who suffers is my manuscript. His name is Phil.