HOW TO AVOID THE REJECTION BLUES
If you continue to write long enough, rejection becomes as natural as breathing. I’ve been rejected for everything you can possibly imagine. Had I kept them all, I’d have a stack of rejection letters several inches thick. I have so many one and two-star reviews I’ve lost count. I’ve had publishers that I’ve worked with before pass on subsequent novels, I’ve had a publisher go bankrupt before the release of my novella, and I’ve been to multiple writing conferences where I wasn’t offered a single panel slot. I’ve released multiple books where my dad purchased more copies than everyone else combined, and I’ve had more than one occasion where the release of my next book was met with nothing more than a whimper and stayed that way for months afterward.
Why am I telling you all of this? Am I trying to depress you and discourage you from writing? Absolutely not.
Had I known writing a book and then marketing it was going be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done would I still have done it? I’d like to think that I would have. I don’t run away from challenges, and I don’t plan to start now. But I’ll never know for sure, because I entered the writing world with a certain amount of naivete. Despite all of my failures, I still have grand aspirations for my writing career.
So how do I continue to write, publish, and market my books in the face of constant rejection? I shrug it off and continue to push forward. Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to drive a dump truck through a twenty-foot-thick concrete wall. But that concrete wall hasn’t stopped me yet, and I’m not going to let it stop me now. It’s really as simple as that. I have probably the best support network a writer could possibly imagine, my publisher Black Opal Books continues to believe in me, and I look for the positives everywhere I go. And there are positives to be had.
When rejection stings, and there are plenty of times when it has stung, I counter it with optimism, positivity, a strong belief in myself, my support network, and focusing on the goals I have for myself and my writing. I make a choice everyday not to let rejection get me down, and I turn that negative energy into positivity. I continue to fail over and over again, and that is why I know that one day I will succeed. And when I do succeed, I know it will all have been worth it, because bigger challenges lead to bigger rewards.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Date Published: 5/12/2018
Publisher: Black Opal Books
Elisha Crimson thought her wedding day would be the happiest of her life. But losing her fiancé to two thugs in a dark sedan wasn’t part of the plan. She, along with the rest of the wedding party, can do nothing to stop the abrupt abduction, so she pursues at the first opportunity, navigating the West Virginia interstate in a white wedding dress behind the wheel of a pickup truck. But will she catch the sedan in time to save her one true love?
Ronnie Washington had known his past would catch up with him, eventually, but he hadn’t expected it to happen on his wedding day. He hates enclosed spaces, and now he’s bouncing around in the trunk of a car after being abducted from the ceremony. His only hope is to talk his way out, but the thugs don’t seem inclined to listen. He knows Elisha will come after him, but, even if she catches them, what can she possibly do against men like these?
Can these two unlikely heroes save the day, and the wedding, or is their life together over before it even starts?
Saturday, 2:45 p.m.:
er long, white dress billowed around her. Mascara raced down her face, her eyes frazzled, and a tear formed as she took off at a dead run. Her brother tossed her his set of keys. She caught them in midair and didn’t even break stride. She peeled out of the parking lot, as a spray of gravel pinged a Mercedes, two BMWs, and a Lexus. Through the open window, the wind whipped her hair. Her green eyes were fixed at a distant point on the horizon. Her gaze was just a bit above the dashboard, as she slammed the pickup truck into second gear. A string of curse words emitted from her lips and smacked the wheel. The cup holder beside her held a plastic cup filled with spit, and she picked it up now. Tobacco juice flowed from her lips, and into its predetermined location.
Elisha Crimson flipped the air conditioner on high, even though it was only sixty degrees outside. She honked her horn, gestured with her free hand, and merged into the passing lane. A silver car swerved in front of her, and she screamed and pounded the steering wheel in agony. This time, she neglected to salute the idiot behind the wheel with a cell phone pressed to his ear.
Her eyes flipped to her rearview mirror, and the sea of cars behind her in an intricate rainbow of colors. The trail of cars resembled a python, and the road in front of her was a never-ending façade of red taillights. An accident loomed up ahead, so she slowed down. Two cars—neither one moving—in the right-hand lane were both torn to shreds in twisted metal and crumpled bumpers. Her mind raced, and adrenaline shook her right hand.
She grabbed the cup beside her and spit another glob of juice.
She’d nailed second gear within five hundred feet of the parking lot, and third came soon after. Fourth proved a bit more of a challenge, but now that was behind her as well. Her lips moved at a constant, steady pace, and the cup beside her filled quickly as well. The pouch stuffed between the passenger seat and her own was a third gone.
She hadn’t smiled since this morning with her hairdresser and sister in the same room, as her mother waited in the room next to hers. Elisha flipped the radio low and her voice high. A rapper spoke about life in the ghetto.
She held onto the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white, and her joints ached. A song came on the radio that reminded her of him, and she turned up the volume loud enough to rattle the frame. With the windows rolled down, the sound traveled toward the trees on either side of the highway. A motorcycle engine roared behind her, and she pushed the pedal all the way to the floor. She smacked her lips and tapped her forehead. She kept thoughts of her fiancé, her wedding, and the family she left behind to herself and slammed down the lid. She discovered a ball cap within arm’s reach and thumped it on her head.
She floored it around an old Porsche and a Mercedes with custom wheels. She held one thought and then another—What would her family think? How could this be happening to her? Was her fiancé okay?— collecting them like stamps and compartmentalizing each one in her mind until such a time when she could gather them whole and shove forward with her life.
She’d known Ronnie’s past would catch up with them one day, but now was not the time for second guesses.
She kept one eye on the horizon and her goal in mind. Her whole world changed when a car pulled out in front of her. She veered to the left, the pickup nearly coming up on two wheels, the center of gravity shifting with brute force. And then she shoved the pickup hard to the right, as the center of gravity changed once again, and the whole cab moved and shook around her. The wind whipped through with blazing speed, and her knuckles locked against the wheel. She pinged to the right and careened to the left like a ping pong ball through a maze.
Steam rose up around her, and she hoped it wasn’t her own. She bit her lip and drew blood, and even managed to swallow a little of the chewing tobacco. Coughing and gagging and sick to her stomach, she had no idea how to continue onward. Only that she had to. If she failed, she couldn’t deal with the consequences.
She had insisted on a big wedding filled with a dessert buffet, two guitars, one ice sculpture, three photographers, and one deejay. Had she scaled back, she might have found herself in a different predicament than the one she currently found herself in the middle of. The voice on the radio called her a liar.
She discovered love at eighteen when it bit her on the ass and decided to hang around. The fucker, Ronnie Washington, had smiled at her, and her knees buckled in the heat and humidity. Unable to string a coherent sentence together for five minutes, she waited for him to walk away. But he didn’t. Ten minutes later, he asked her out, and she said yes before she gathered what remained of her senses. Six years later—the best six years of her life—he still asked her out, the romantic bastard. Sure, the ups and downs sucked, and he charmed her with all five of his senses, but dammit she loved him anyway. She loved him with her entire body, and still that didn’t seem like enough. Now, in her brother’s pickup, with her whole world abandoned at the golf course, and her fiancé kidnapped in a black piece of crap with four wheels, she shed more water beneath her eyelids.
If she failed to push forward with everything she had, she never stood a chance at success. Sure, she had failed at almost every corner and streetlight. Sure, failure pointed the barrel of its gun in her direction. But failure didn’t stand a chance this time. She’d find a way to succeed, even if it meant she exhausted every last possibility. Even if she didn’t have a damn clue how she’d do it.
About the Author
Robert Downs aspired to be a writer before he realized how difficult the writing process was. Fortunately, he'd already fallen in love with the craft, otherwise his tales might never have seen print. Originally from West Virginia, he has lived in Virginia, Massachusetts, New Mexico, and now resides in California. When he’s not writing, Downs can be found reading, reviewing, traveling, or smiling. To find out more about his latest projects, or to reach out to him on the Internet, visit the author’s website: www.RobertDowns.net. THE BRIDAL CHASE is his seventh book and second novella.