My Bad Boy Doctor

4

Two months later...

Subject: #SFFpit Submission Request - Whispers in Time

Iris Costa <iriscosta@regalluyendykagency.com>

To me ▽

Dear Kelly,

Thank you very much for submitting WHISPERS IN TIME to me, after I liked your SFFpit tweet. After careful consideration, I am sorry to say that I am not taking things further -- You have a great premise, but I ultimately didn't find the heroine to be as appealing as I'd hoped. I would have also liked to see more meaningful interaction between the protagonists. For these reasons, I'm stepping aside, but I do wish you all the best in your search for representation.

Kind regards,

Iris

Associate Agent, Regal Luyendyk Agency Ltd

They say the first rejection is always the hardest. But then they say that about the first time you put yourself out there on Twitter and get no likes. Well, I did get likes, and I was absolutely thrilled. I spent days crafting my query letter and combing through it for mistakes. I spent the last two months polishing, editing, and rewriting a story I'd tossed into the manuscript graveyard. All of that work I put in when I could have been resting was for nothing, and now all I want to do is cry.

So I do.

I close my laptop and crawl back into bed. The pandemic is still going, even though doctors and politicians promised this shit would be over by now, and we've had so many variants and new outbreaks since. Despite the pain mostly subsiding, my rib still wiggles when I toss and turn -- much to my annoyance, and I'm ready to find a meme that says 'Fuck the 2020s.'

The only good thing to come out of any of my woes this year has been Blake ignoring my follow on Instagram. Part of me is still mortified, but hopefully, he didn't see that. If he did, he's been blessedly quiet about it.

My phone pings with a message from Dad. 'I'm on my way home from the Post Office. Do you want anything to eat?'

What I want is a full tub of ice cream, but I'm allergic to dairy and all the best foods in life. As much as I'm craving Indian food and Sushi, that's too expensive for his budget, so I go with a non-committal answer. 'You can bring home anything. I'll eat whatever doesn't have dairy, egg, or peanut.'

'How about shrimp tacos?'

'Sure.'

Curling under my blankets as I cuddle my fluffy pillow, I place my phone on its stand and look for a movie to watch. I find an old 90s comedy and settle into my mound of pillows, trying and failing at not thinking of that rejection sitting in my email.

Now that my rib is considered healed and I'm cleared to work, I should be looking for a job, but that rejection hit me hard, and I want a pity party. I worked so hard on that book, and even though I keep telling myself Stephen King went through loads of rejections, I really hoped to at least get a partial request. Besides, not only do I feel like I let myself down; but I feel like I let Dad down too after promising him I'd try to put myself out there. He's the only person who's ever tried to support my passion for the written word.

I must have fallen asleep because the movie is almost halfway through when Dad knocks on my door. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty! I have lunch downstairs."

Turning off my phone, I sit up with a stretch and kick my blanket to the floor where my other pillows have fallen. It's probably a good thing I'm single because I'm a rough sleeper, tossing, turning, and throwing everything off the bed until it's just me. If I had a boyfriend, he'd probably end up with the pillows too — or on the couch.