Yesterday I got my first rejection letter for two picture book stories I sumbitted. Besides a little disappointment in realizing the world will just have to wait a little longer to be able to read the world's cutest author, I was fine. No drowning my sorrows in gallons of diet Pepsi. No runs to the store to stock up on pints of Ben & Jerry's. Not even a trip to Braum's for their addiciting peanut butter-hot fudge sundae.
Instead, just a dig into my books of publishers to see who the next in line will be for the chance of debuting Teddi Eberly Martin, authoress.
And in the meantime I get the satisfaction of knowing that I'm a real writer. I have the rejection letter to prove it.
