When I first decided I wanted to be an author, my mother warned me about rejections. She told me I'd receive thousands all throughout my life. Her warning did nothing to ease the pain when those emails come in.
They told my that my writing wasn't what they were looking for. It belonged elsewhere.
Over and over and over. It fed into every fear that I wasn't good enough. A second rate, low priority, nobody. I belonged elsewhere.
But I've decided that I'm reclaiming that word. Elsewhere isn't some forgotten void where I will sit in silence for the rest of my life. It's an otherworldly place, a home for me and all my characters. I do belong Elsewhere, but that isn't a condemnation. It's an adventure.
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