My First Rejection Letter

A couple weeks ago I recieved my first rejection letter.

Now to some, that would be crushingly bad for one's ego.  For me, it is just an indicator that I'm on the correct path.

I recently (re)watched a vlogbrothers video that guest starred Maureen Johnson.  In it, she said that her agent recieves about 3,500 query letters a year, and in that year, she only accepted 2 clients.  That means the chances of being accepted are about 1,750:1.  The fact that an agent took the time to look at it and form a reply (even if it was copy and paste), means that it was valuable enough to warrant 1) a look 2) consideration 3) a response.  That's amazing.

Aside from all of that, 1,750:1 is actually a manageable odd, considering the time I've given myself to get my book published here in America.  The problem is that I'm just so busy doing other things that I hardly have the time to send those letters out.

The good news is that I'm looking at working about 20+ hours a week tutoring, and about 10+ hours a week working at the restaurant.  I *could* give up my restaurant job, but I kinda need the money to help pay my bills off more quickly (I'm several thousand dollars in debt), but I think the main reason why I'm avoiding quitting my job is because I'm getting burned out from writing.

It's pretty much all I do.  That and tutor and play with kids, and I'm starting to wonder what the point in all of this is?

Yeah, yeah I'm paying my bills.

Yeah, yeah, I pretty much have and run my own business

Yeah, yeah, I know that I'll most likely keep working even if I make it "big".

I just... don't see the point in any of this.  Making a lasting effect on humanity doesn't really matter; it's been running perfectly fine without my input for thousands of years, why would it need mine?

Having personal relationships don't matter, because my feelings, wants, and desires are insignificant to the vast and immsearuably expansive universe we live in. 

So, what am I stuck with?  Just working until I die?  Even death is meaningless because *gasp* guess what? Things have been dying for MILLIONS of years.  What would my death matter?

No, I'm not contemplating suicide.  If even my death won't matter, then expediting the process is just as pointless.

Don't know if I'm going into another depressive cycle.  I am feeling more despondent lately.  Maybe I just feel like I'm trapped by logical necessity.  Nothing I feel matters.  Nothing I want matters.  Why care about anything?  Everything goes away.

Wow.  This was a bit of depressing blog post.  Hopefully I can pick it up next week?

See you then,