Quiting Isn't An Option

I know my novel is good and I know people would read it. I know it's an important story that's contemporary and multi-layered. I know it can be cross-marketed as literary, book club, and romance. 

I've been querying my debut novel for 42 days. I've sent out 41 queries. I have heard back from 8 agents, all rejections. Honestly though, I feel like some of these responses are from places that don't actually read the query, but who knows.

I know that I am more likely to be struck by lightning and win the lottery than to have overnight success with my novel. I know that it's important to get used to hearing 'no' and to never give up. 

With all that said, I keep thinking of the Ted Lasso quote, "it's the hope that kills you." I have so much hope for my book, for publication, and my dream to read my novel at my local Barnes and Noble. But sometimes that hope hurts, physically hurts, because it's 'just' hope and not reality. 

To make myself feel better, I read articles about great novels that got rejected. For instance, I came across this excerpt from lithub:


Lisa Genova, Still Alice: about 100 rejections (or non-replies) from agents.

After getting very little positive feedback and no takers from the query process, Genova opted to self-publish her book. Eventually, it was acquired and re-issued by Gallery Books, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, and proceeded to spend 40 weeks on the New York Times best seller list. In 2015, Julianne Moore won an Academy Award for portraying the eponymous Alice.


Honestly, this book was one of the most powerful novels I've ever read. At times, I forgot it was even a novel because it felt so real. Who the hell rejected this masterpiece? As for the movie? Just...wow. It was every bit as good as the book. 

(Disclsimer, I'm not saying my book is as good as Still Alice! I wish!!)

Anyway, the Still Alice example really stood out to me, especially because of the last part about the movie adaptation and the Oscar's. When I wrote my book, I felt like I was watching an Oscar worthy movie. I have all the actors cast, the sets picked out, and I told my best friend what I'd be wearing to the Oscar's when my novel became a film. 

After writing and admitting all this, I feel ridiculous. I'm from Baldwinville, a town in the middle of nowhere Western Massachusetts. I am an awkward, anxiety riddled mess. Who am I to try and be apart of the published, or film, world? But then again, why not me? Don't these underdog tales make for the best stories?

Maybe the hope doesn't kill you, maybe it sustains you in the meantime.

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