About this identity thing…
I opened up my email a few weeks ago and my heart skipped a beat. A response. From an editor at one of those big New York City Publishing houses. I’d been waiting 83 loooong days to hear from this editor, she’d already told me I was a good writer…so I was pretty certain all my writing dreams were about to come true. I had it all planned out.
Literary agents would be blowing up my phone trying to represent me. My book would debut as a New York Times Bestseller, I’d buy my darling husband that black Tesla we’d seen in the mall, and then whisk my family away for an all expense paid vacation to Fiji.
And therein lies the problem…I’d placed my hope, trust, and identity as a writer in acceptance from that publisher. …