Stories are our subconscious speaking. Our past. Our fears. We have to believe our tales contain a universal truth that will resonate with readers. Why else would we write anything other than a confessional diary hidden in the attic? Telling stories requires the courage to jump off the cliff of the familiar, into the valley of the unknown, where rejection, ignominy, and humiliation lurk.
Since February, I’ve been trying to find a home for my novel. Depressed and languishing in rejections and a spreadsheet of “no reply,” I wandered through Poets and Writers Newsletter, dreaming of finding someone, anyone, who would read the book I spent the last five years writing. Only one agency “requested the manuscript and said no. The rest—“no” or no reply without a further look.
I stumbled upon a Writer’s Residency in Tepoztlán, Mexico. What’s one more rejection, I thought, filling out the application and polishing the first pages again. I had zero expectation of being chosen from an international group of writers competing for limited spots. Why not apply? At least I’d be rejected by the literary and the brilliant. I hit send on a Sunday, and lo and behold, on Monday I received a note from the director enthusiastically accepting my application.
WHAT??
She thought the class I signed up for was not the right fit, and pointed me to a Master Class more suited to a finished novel. I was stunned. The best-selling novelist, Reyna Grande, will read my book. And give notes. And teach six Master classes to myself and three other writers. We’ll meet individually to discuss the work.
The residency is three weeks long, with uninterrupted time to write, connect with an international group of writers, and absorb the atmosphere of a historic native village which, legend has it, is the birthplace of Cē Ācatl Topiltzin Quetzalcōātl (Our prince, One Reed Precious Serpent). The location itself is a serendipitous gift to my research for book two.
Maybe there was an upside to all those rejections after all. This incredible gift was the result of taking one more risk. Facing one more rejection. In January, you will find me in Mexico, rewriting (again) Daughter of the Weeds.
What’s another draft? Maybe another yes…
