Okay so you know that conundrum (totally love that word. LOVE IT) I had about whether I should quit or not, and the inadvertent guilt trip my nine-year-old sent me on?
It seems that I may not quit after all.
I promised my hubs that I would try to get Feudlings published for a year. After that, I could quit and not feel bad (9-year-old missed that memo). So that year was up this past weekend, on my birthday. I had been trying for a year, and being rejected and miserable and, let's be honest, pretty dang grumpy. I was ready to give up.
The Monday before my birthday, I got an email from a small publisher I had pitched to only a week or so before. She said they loved my book and offered me a contract.
I fell out of my chair. Literally.
I was so excited, and she was so super nice. So I sent an email to the other publishers and agents that had my manuscript, because it's the polite thing to do.
A few days later, a second publisher said they also wanted Feudlings. That night, an agent wrote to say she would upgrade from the partial I sent her only a couple days before to a full. By then, I was not breathing. I nearly passed out.
Now I have a decision to make. I'm doing my research, asking lots of questions, squeeing lots and lots. I guess this was the universe's way of telling me I wasn't supposed to give up.
Thanks, universe :)