Two rejections. One on Monday, one on Friday. They came so quickly, it almost hurt, as though I'd made some ghastly mistake on my query letter that resulted in it getting tossed in the reject pile. As to what that mistake might be, I can only speculate, since the rejections are mass-produced.
Intellectually, I know to expect rejections. All writers get them. It's a mark of professionalism to get rejected. Famous authors have stacks of rejection letters. All well and good. That doesn't keep me from feeling depressed about it.
I haven't had a good week.
I did get a subbing job on Monday--Japanese--but it was a long day with complicated instructions and I came home tired. I wrote 7,000 words this week, but the chapter went nowhere and I at last shoved it aside, convinced I'd be better just moving on. I feel passionless and uninspired. The house is a mess and so am I.
I think I'll cry and scribble poetry like an angsty teen.