I'm thinking about you.....

I’ve been lucky to be scheduled for between 36-40 hours at work for the next six weeks but six days a week takes a big chunk out of my time and add computer lag to that – well, it has kept me from commenting on those blogs I love so very much.

I just wanted to take this post to say “Hi” to you all…apologize for not being able to comment and most times not being able to even get my computer to open your blog for me to read.

Stay happy and hopefully I can get this old computer back to normal one day soon. Until then God bless you all and have a special day.

I am constantly researching on the computer for literary agents that are interested in my particular genre – YA paranormal romance. It takes hours of patience and sometimes I can get a little sleepy, especially after working a 9 hour shift at work dealing with customers and problems that arise during the course of the day.

I received a rejection letter a couple of days ago which had just two little words…”no, thanks”. Not even a salutation or a closing signature…merely those two words…”no” and “thanks”. OK, so it did hurt my feelings ever so slightly that I was not worth just a few more words but, hey, that’s life.

Last night I was researching until 2am in the morning. I had sent out a number of query letters and while I was still online at that hour of the morning I got an email back. Apparently, I must have sent another query to the literary agent with the very wordy reply of “no thanks”. My only excuse is that I was blurry eyed and extremely tired and did not remember the name because believe me I did not ever want to send another message to that literary agent again.

However, as my luck would have it, I did just that…I sent another request for their time and consideration. So within minutes…and I mean literally minutes, I received a return email…this one was a few more words in length…this one read: “I already rejected this”.

If you are a literary agent and have by some unknown reason stumbled across my blog today…please consider the person who is holding out their precious manuscript for you to read and who only asks for a kind word to soften the pain of yet another rejection. Is that really too much to ask?

Wish I was on that beach right now!

This was the gift he had been working on for months in anticipation of his wedding day. The mirror was oval in shape and its height of six foot was almost as tall as Samuel himself. He envisioned himself standing in front of the mirror with his arms wrapped around Rose – holding her close to him – her head leaning back softly on his chest – as he gazed upon the image of the two of them in the mirror’s reflection. The mirror was held slightly off the floor by the legs which were attached to two arms halfway up both sides of the mirror. This allowed the mirror to be tilted forward or backward for the proper angle. Samuel had designed graceful arms so that they would not look plain in comparison to the delicate roses he had carved across the flat broad piece of wood which joined the legs of the stand under the bottom of the mirror. It had taken many precious hours of carving for him to create this gift of love for Rose. With patience, detail, and precision he had carved a wreath of dainty roses around the whole circumference of the mirror’s frame. He doubted he would ever be able to duplicate this work of art. It was one of a kind and it was created out of love. He had worked hard with sheer determination to bring into
existence a masterpiece that would reflect the love he bore in his heart and soul for Rose.

"Don't worry, Grammy...I love your book!"

But I checked the mail tonight and there was another one of those dreaded rejection letters. They try to be polite but let’s face it…it’s a rejection no matter how you look at it.

The total rejection count now stands at 14 but as one of my fellow bloggers pointed out Harry Potter was rejected by more than 50 literary agents…I bet they are kicking themselves every day.

I hope everyone is having a great start to Summer 2011 and that the season is filled with lots of fun, adventures, laughter, love and many blessings.

Take care and God bless you all!

A Happy Bouquet for YOU!

It’s a busy season right now so I work anywhere from 32 hours to 42 hours a week. It’s a whole new thing for me to open the store one day and close the store another day. (I keep pepper spray in my pocket when I am closing alone because there have been robberies and it gives me confidence going into the empty store in the morning or locking up at night.) The store is located in a small strip mall so it is more on the deserted side at night.

I keep my Guardian Angel close by my side and ask him for his help quite often. I was blessed with a very special Guardian for which I am ever so grateful…especially at night when I’m walking to my car!

I just want to thank everyone who sent such special messages encouraging me after my last rejection letter. You might not realize just how grateful I am for your words and support. I am so happy to be a part of this wonderful world of writers and bloggers and the special connection we all share. We are from all parts of the world and yet we are all so very much alike.

I just wanted to let you all know that you truly rock my world and I am a better person for having met each and every one of you. May God bless you in a special way and fill your lives and the lives of those you love with all the very best. Thank you!

Hmmmm....I better search for more literary agents!

It was just about ten weeks ago that I submitted my query letter and I was hoping that this would not be another rejection.

Unfortunately, I received the dreaded rejection letter in an email tonight. It was disappointing because I just had a good feeling about the response I would get…obviously, I have no physic abilities.

So it’s back to making more submissions, more prayers, more hopes and keeping my dream alive.

I wonder what the highest number of rejection letters a writer has received.

The walls of the kitchen were painted a pale butter cream shade of yellow and the ceiling was made of an ornate pattern of tin which had been left in its original copper tones. The floor was comprised of wide oak planks that were stained and varnished to a satin sheen. Under the kitchen table and chairs was an oval cotton rug woven in warm shades of brown and rust. His mother’s hands had crafted that rug before he was born and when his father passed away it was one of the few cherished items that remained as a remembrance of her.

On either side of the window were sturdy shelves which held jars of canned fruits and vegetables, tins of sugar, flour, salt, pepper and an assortment of the newest kitchen gadgets. These items were all invented in the hope they would make life easier for the lady of the house. He had taken pride in finding them and purchasing them through mail order catalogs. He had spent an equal amount of time carefully arranging them on the kitchen shelves for the day when Rose would be the one preparing their meals.

Samuel had considered himself the luckiest man alive when Rose had accepted his proposal of marriage. He had loved her ever since the very first minute he had ever laid his eyes upon her. It was five years ago last month when their paths had crossed. She was the tender age of sixteen and he had just turned twenty-six. She had taken his breath away with that first glimpse of her sitting in the carriage next to her father. In his mind’s eye he could still see her sitting with her hands gracefully holding her parasol and her beautiful long blonde hair pulled up and secured with combs. The soft tendrils of hair curled at the temples and at the back of her neck. She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen and they absolutely enchanted him. They had held him captive from that very moment. Rose had worn a periwinkle blue dress with a high lace collar which boasted an onyx cameo at the throat. The sleeves of the dress had a row of tiny buttons down the sides that ended at her wrist and the skirt covered all but the tips of her white buttoned down shoes.

The carriage had stopped at the front sidewalk of the McAdam’s home and Rose seemed unsure whether to step down out of the carriage or wait for her father to assist her. With all the material of her dress gathered around her, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to step on to the carriage block. This block was placed at the curb to enable ladies to alight safely from a carriage by shortening the distance from the carriage step to the sidewalk. This was sometimes precarious for a young lady, especially one who had just recently reached the age when the short dresses of her childhood had given way to the longer ones of a young lady. It was difficult for Rose to
see the top of the platform due to the length and volume of her dress. To raise her skirt high enough would expose her ankles and she had been properly taught by her mother that would have been most inappropriate with a gentleman so close at hand.

Samuel sensed her hesitance and continued to stroll casually up to the carriage to bid her father a good day even as his heart pounded in his chest. He had addressed Rose directly as he gallantly offered her his services in getting down from the carriage. She smiled shyly and told him she appreciated his chivalrous offer and that she thankfully accepted it.

Samuel was much taller than Rose. She was very delicate and fragile looking and appeared much smaller than his six foot two inch frame. Samuel reached up and put his strong hands on either side of her tiny waist. He was fascinated and intrigued that his hands were almost able to entirely encircle it. Samuel lifted her out of the carriage and placed her easily on the sidewalk below.

She reached down to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress, not so much that it was wrinkled, but rather because his strong hands lingered just a bit too long at her waist. She was acutely aware of the closeness of their bodies and she started to blush. He thought her as enchanting as a princess and her modesty struck a cord in him that he had never experienced before. A wiser man would have recognized that Samuel was falling in love.

Anyone who knew me would think me a little bit nutty were I to tell them that sometimes I felt as if the mirror was looking back at me. I felt that it somehow had a life of its own. There had been many times it seemed to me that the mirror possessed a wise old soul to whom I could confide. And confide in it I did. I withheld nothing from it. It knew all my deepest secrets, longings, hopes, and dreams – especially those spoken in my darkest moments. They were all held safely within its frame. I knew that even if the mirror could have the ability to listen – it still could not speak or repeat what it had heard from my lips. I knew with unwavering trust that the mirror safely held my secrets in confidence – secure and safe within its soul. I believed that even were it to be given the gift of speech it would still keep them hidden from the world.

I remembered when the workers who were renovating the house brought it down from the attic and placed it in my room. It had been collecting dust for years until that day when I uncovered such a rare and lovely special creation hidden in the corner of the attic. It had waited abandoned and alone. Now it stood proudly across from my bed – no longer forgotten but resurrected.

I was captivated by its graceful oval shape and the fact that the gentle, loving hands of a skilled craftsman had painstakedly carved all those delicate roses and leaves.Sometimes I would run my fingers gently over the initials carved into the back of the mirror. I was certain that the graceful S.M.S. were the initials of its maker and I wondered for whom he had carved the mirror.

The whole frame was white but the years had been less than kind to its finish. It was now an antique cream with several worn spots which had darkened over time and which actually added more charm and warmth to its features. There were tiny spots of wear on the beautiful aged patina and in some areas the original rich walnet wood color peeked through. The intricate details of the petals of the roses and leaves could only have been carved by love. At least that was what my romantic heart told me.

The mirror inside its oval frame had only a few tiny scratches on its otherwise perfect surface. I was sure that concealed within were the remains of a passionate heart. The mirror was not in perfect condition, by any means, but after all things considered I realized that most things had flaws…especially humans.