Book ends…

We’ve been cleaning house recently. I’m not talking about dusting-the-knick-knacks cleaning. I’m talking about rent-a-dumpster-and-fill-it-up-in-three-days cleaning. I’m talking about half-a-dozen-trips-to-Goodwill cleaning. I’m talking about I-haven’t-seen-that-thing-in-12-years cleaning. Among the many treasures I’ve excavated is a folder containing a sad batch of letters.
About ten years ago, I started writing a story. Although I’d never written anything longer than a school research paper, I set a goal for myself: three pages a day. Whether they were good or bad, I couldn’t stop writing until I had typed three pages full of words. In a few weeks, it was clear that I had a novel on my hands and I was excited. I was often surprised by how my own story was turning out. There were days when I would be teary-eyed over something said by a character I had created!
When I finished the novel, I let lots of friends read it and then I began to try to get it published. What I found while cleaning last week was my folder of rejection letters. Thirty, maybe forty or more notes of negativity. Some were obvious form letters while others were brief hand-written notes. But all said the same thing: we don’t want your book. I guess I saved the rejections so that, when the book was finally published, I could say, “Thirty-seven people rejected my book before it became the best-selling book—soon to be a major motion picture—of the year.” But nobody ever said yes and eventually I stopped trying.
I’m glad to say that last week, I threw away that folder of rejection. And I thought of how we carry around the other rejections we experience in our lives for years and years, wallowing in our unworthiness. Throw them away; your Author loves the story you—and He—are writing together.