My husband bought me that clock a year ago.
He bought it because I was pitching my first book proposal to an agent and as a stalwart supporter of my writing, he wanted to encourage me. So I sent off this idea to the agent who I most wanted to represent me.
That proposal was rejected.
So my hilarious clock sat on my dresser.
And I took the constructive criticism that the agent so graciously offered me and went back to the drawing board. I rewrote and reworked and came up with something that was way better, thanks largely to help from Ed Cyzewski. It was something that I loved. And I submitted to the agent again.
That proposal was rejected, too.
And the clock got buried under out of season clothes and children’s school papers.
I cried on the phone with my friend Matthew for a couple of hours and he offered lots of encouragement. Jason continued to listen to me bounce ideas around. My close friends suffered through months of me whining and complaining about how hard this whole process was.
And I kind of forgot about the clock.
I felt listless, so I started a new series. It was something that mattered to me because I’ve seen how misconceptions can hurt relationships. It was something that I could write while I tried to sort out what I wanted to do with my writing.
Life is funny.
Last week, Rachelle Gardner, the agent who I have wanted to work with for a very long time, who represents nearly all of my favorite female authors, took me on as one of her clients. And we’re going to work together to make that series into a book.
And I finally hung up my clock.