erika, I'm afraid my immediate reaction is to say something remarkably forthright to your mom.

Because, fuck yes, it really is your business, and the sigh? Would have provoked me to murder.

"How many children do you have?" perfect strangers say. It's the standard conversational gambit around here.

I manage a weary smile. "None."

The flicker goes through their eyes. Bafflement, curiosity, a lurking unease that says they might be on delicate ground. Most of them just can't help saying carefully "Oh?" Some of them blithely add "Why not?"

I could say flatly "None of your business," I could just stare at them. Depending on my mood I'll say honestly, "I decided that if we weren't in a reasonable situation to raise a family by the time I hit 30, then children were out of the picture." But that gets me chirps of "But it's not too late!"

I don't tell them that I rejoice in my childless state, that I'm afraid giving enough of myself to be a good mother would have driven me mad, that I have nightmares of coping with adolescence at the same time as my husband's illnesses. Even children who aren't spawn of Satan have a keenly honed ability to be annoying, and I'm afraid of what the lurking shadows of my temper would have done. The very idea of being pregnant, of having a separate entity feeding off my body, makes me shudder. There are no give-backs with babies, no easy way to say, "No, this was a huge mistake, I'd like to return this." The stakes are too high.

Instead I shrug and say, "Just never worked out."

Wow, erika and connie. Powerful stuff.

So, is this an encouraging excerpt from a rejection letter?

I regret having to tell you that I've decided to pass on this. I wasn't convinced enough of being able to place this manuscript, considering the very tight and demanding conditions of the market. However, please keep in mind that there is a great deal of merit in your work, and a part of my decision was based on my client list being so full at this time. I'm being extremely selective when considering new work.

This is certainly a subjective decision that I've made, so I hope that you will continue to send THE SERGEANT'S LADY elsewhere. There is always the possibility that you could find someone who feels otherwise.

The sense I'm getting from all my rejections is, "It's not you, it's the tight historical romance market." Which, yeah, I know that. But it's not a dead market, just a flat one. I just want someone to give me the chance.

Which means I need to go to the next name on the list and get another query out there. Dammit.

Deb, that conversation took place years ago. I suspect it might be different now, but the pattern of not discussing is fairly entrenched now.

Susan, yes, definitely encouraging.

Deb, that conversation took place years ago. I suspect it might be different now, but the pattern of not discussing is fairly entrenched now.

Ah. Not recent, then? But the entrenched pattern is the kicker every damned time.

Yeah, pretty much.People still tell me I seem too normal to have gone through this for life, which makes me think how little they know me or that a sense of pop culture covers a multitude of sins.

People still tell me I seem too normal to have gone through this for life

This seriously boggles me. Do they think suddenly losing one's sight, for instance, would make someone more philosophical about it? Bizarre.

People still tell me I seem too normal to have gone through this for life

People suck, but the drabble rocks.

Here, a little something to lighten the mood.

Learning Curve

The class watched, thoroughly bemused, as Frau Nelson laughed until tears started streaming down her reddened cheeks. After lunch, in the stuffy, overheated room, the class was more willing to sleep off the effects of starchy school meals than to concentrate on lessons. Boring, until the one-two punch of wholly mistranslated sentences set the teacher howling and to the mat. One, who had meant to say – I have bad road traffic – had actually written: I have sexual intercourse. Two, the knockout punch -- I am always losing myself -- got totally lost in its idiom: I am always prostituting myself.

editted for grammar and spelling.

Not titling this one, and sure as hell not posting it in livejournal.

- - -

What I wrote: A delicate, precisely choreographed situation, main themes love and loyalty, in which the narrator realises that his split loyalties have damaged, and endangered, the woman he loves.

What my WIP readers said: Oh, WOW, this is amazing, I can see these people, feel for them, bleed for them, more please.

What the agent said: Love this, compelling insights, beautifully written. But we need more bodies - maybe a second murder? Maybe have the protagonist racing into danger, having to decide which woman to save? Make it easier to market to a mystery editor.

Conclusion: Why do I bother...?