Well this morning I was reading about the attack on Pam vanHylckama, an agent who was attacked by a disgruntled psychotically-unhinged
rejected writer. At first I was horrified, re: W T Heck!? Then I was angry for
her and that we live in a world where people are abused and assaulted. My
third thought was, I hope I never get that confident in the divine perfection
of my own prose.
Personally, every time I get a rejection I tend to think, Yeah.
She’s right. And I a little bit think, Isn’t it funny how I was pretending to
be a writer these past few years? Then I chill and go back and rework my
manuscript a little. I also accidently… all the chocolate.
I cannot imagine being so convinced of my all-powerful
writerly-ness that if someone rejected me, I would decide there was something wrong with them
and I should therefore stalk them and assault them. Now I’m sure this guy is
dealing with issues far more serious than inflated ego, but the thought remains,
I hope I never become so in love with myself that I feel the need to unleash my
inner demons.
No agent needs me to track her down and dump her satchel out
all over the sidewalk. Or maybe if I were really mad, I would lecture her for
an hour while she cried. No one needs to experience that. It’s best if my
confidence remains safely where it is. That way, the only person who suffers is
my manuscript. His name is Phil.
