Yesterday I took my heart in my mouth and sent a message to one of my favorite thriller authors – someone I’ve corresponded briefly with before. I just finished one of his books and loved it. There was much in common with the thriller I’ve just written – human trafficking, white supremacists, a hero damaged in childhood now pursuing a Dexter-like vigilante revenge. So in my message I asked if he’d be willing to take a look at my book and maybe offer a blurb.
Unfortunately, he replied within minutes with a considerate but firm no. He was busy, which is perfectly understandable. Still, the rejection hit me harder than I’d expected. I spiraled for a little while after that, re-assessing my place in the universe, as one does in such moments.
The conclusion I came to is that I’m still very much at the beginning of this writer’s road. There’s a long way to go yet. On the one hand I do have some standing and have achieved some impressive things as a writer, with the Podium audiobooks coming, and selling over 10,000 of my zombie series, and in the past getting my short stories published in pro fiction magazines.
On the other hand, these achievements are small beer compared to others further along the trail. Your Stephen King’s and Lee Child’s are gold medalists. This author is up there in the rankings. I however am not in the Olympics, nor even in the running yet. Maybe I’m in a semi-pro league, vying to go pro, scrapping for sponsorship to support my passion/hobby.
Oddly, this perspective (while perhaps obvious) is not too disheartening. If anything it pumps me up to work harder. Earn my place by hook or by crook. So now – back to writing.