A writer friend who hangs out in my Usenet newsgroup on news.sff.net remarks that my posts there are remarkably calm, cool, and collected for someone who has strong editorial interest in his memoir. "You are doing a very good job of trying to act cool about this possibility with your book," my friend writes. "No sweat stains on your postings here, no jittery typing, nothing."
This comment gave me pause. I examined my soul, as it were, and I discovered something disheartening: Despite the fact that my reading last week rocked the free world, and that a by-God editor who attended by chance was interested enough to inquire about the availability of my manuscript and is having lunch with my agent to discuss it today ... despite this, I do not expect her to buy the book.
Have I had the optimism pounded out of me by previous rejections? Have I come to disbelieve in the possibility of selling my book at all? Or have I simply become a realist as to the ways and wiles of the publishing industry? And will my cynicism hinder book sales in some cosmic way?
I think it's time for me to learn some optimism again.
