It’s my fault

It’s my fault. It’s my fault for thinking that I would give the traditional route one more try. My novel, Sunspots, is a departure from my first one in that it deals with the emotional journey of a young woman who loses her spouse after two years. The story has ghosts and time travel episodes and I thought it would be a grabber. But no. Few requests. So I gave up sending the query for awhile and then I started up again. Caught a big one but not quite. It’s an intern to the big agent. Okay. It’s something.

So today I get the rejection that was so puzzling and so off that it made me want to spit. First, I’m told that the writing is really good. I’m thinking–isn’t that pretty damn important in your decision-making process? But…and there is always a but. There were problems with the story.

So I wrote back emboldened–please tell me what problems so I can fix them. So lo and behold I get a response and then I really want to spit. All the problems did not exist. She says why did the main character just go back to being a housewife at the end. WHAT????  Explicitly stated–she was in law school. She didn’t even understand why the main character is so depressed. A young woman loses her young husband and she wonders why the main character is depressed. That the depression was unexpected. Really?

Really?

This what you get when you send in a manuscript, a person who is a robot?

So then I wrote her back pointing out the errors in her feedback. Even suggested that she really didn’t read the book but perhaps skimmed. Oh no, I’m told. I read everything. But I read so many SIMULTANEOUSLY that I can have memory lapses.

Can it get any worse than this?

It’s my fault for participating in this BS. My fault for not sticking to my guns and just self-publish. This crap is so hard to take.