What’s the difference between an aspiring kidlit author/illustrator and all the other parents at the library?
An aspiring author/illustrator quietly studies new and classic picture books when one kid falls asleep while the other is enjoying Lego Club. (I was trying to keep my stack to sign out somewhat reasonable so the kids could choose a few too.)
I plopped the napping child in the middle of the floor, pretended I didn’t know her, and enjoyed watching the reaction of the other patrons to the random abandoned sleeping child.
Just in case you didn’t catch the story on the above slideshow:
In her house so old it creaks,
my Grandma has a door that squeaks.
Just past that door and down the hall,
a broomstick hangs up on the wall.
When I stayed the night last Halloween,
branches tapped on the window screen.
I heard a groan and moan from the creaky floor
and a wheeze and sigh from the squeaky door.
I saw a pumpkin moon and a witch on a broom
who waved to me in my cold dark room.
When I ran to find Grandma that spooky night,
I found an empty bed in the glowing light.
I took the kids on a bike ride to the old train bridge and back today. I wanted a chance to enjoy the fall leaves. They wanted to get out into nature. We packed binoculars, snacks, and of course my sketchbook. My daughter & I took the stairs down the steep slope to the river. Of course my son said “I’m Steve Irwin, I’m going down the dangerous way.” It wasn’t really dangerous thank goodness, although he’s much braver than me.
I sat down on a rock to sketch the car bridge. The kids soon tired of throwing rocks into the river and decided to climb the boulders under the train bridge instead. I was too busy sketching to cringe. They assured me there was even more to sketch on the other side of the boulders. On the climb back up to the train bridge, they found a marble amongst the boulders. They were so excited about their “rock climbing” adventure that we had to “high foot five” each other before heading home.
Sometimes rejection leaves you curled up in bed feeling sorry for yourself, eyes swollen and red. Full of endless seas of tears you can’t escape. You count your breaths and wondering if they will stop under the weight of your heavy chest.
But sometimes rejection is a cause for quiet celebration, putting spring in your step. Being rejected means you put yourself out there, made an effort, tried your best. You haven’t failed, merely tried. You can’t succeed without trying.
I just received my first rejection letter for the picture book manuscript I sent out. I’m continuing to work at improving my writing and illustration skills. So far I’m pleased with my progress. Until you try something you don’t even know what you’re capable of!