Confidence.

Throughout my life, I like to think I’ve been confident…enough. Certainly rarely cocky, probably on the end of the spectrum that routinely thinks, “I’m good enough for this… I think. Let’s try to fool everyone.”

I’ve never been more confident, though, than in what I’m working on right now: I know for a FACT that my book is awesome. (Stay with me here, I need an ego boost.)

And that’s why I’m having such a lousy time with failing at it.

Not failing, exactly; I’ve been querying agents for about four months and I’ve gotten some requests for partial manuscripts and then a lot of rejection. I have a friend who says it took her two and a half years of querying to get an agent, then another four years to sell a book.

But I’m already frustrated. It’s been a LOT of rejection. I’m getting snippy about it. (It’s very easy for me to get snippy. I’m always about 45 seconds away from snippy.)

I’ve succeeded at a lot of stuff in my life, and most of it I’ve been sort of bluffing my way through. Now that I’m flunking at the one thing I know I’m super good at (or, at least, did once, pretty well), I’m sort of like

I know this is going to be a marathon and not a sprint, but I can’t help it. Oy vey.

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