Oh, hon. It's really hard -- really, really, go get yourself a stiff fucking drink hard. And then when that wears off, remember that you were just as frustrated when you were under contract and unable to sell things you wanted to work on until you'd finished your obligations to Dial.

(First, though? Stiff drink.)

(And no, I can't really quantify "just as frustrated" -- just that you've wanted out of it too. And no, it's not for the best in any Pollyanna way. It sucks a lot. But you're going to pick up and kick all their asses after this if anyone does.)

Oh, babe. I'm so sorry. It sounds a little like Baby Editor got told to run with something she wasn't entirely trusted to handle, in the end. You never know what kind of office politics are behind stuff like this, either.

::hugs Barb hard::

Nora, I forgot to mention how sorry I was to hear about Tom. Man, grownup life really sucks hard so much of the time. I hope he finds something quickly.

{{{Barb}}} That just sucks. I'm outraged on your behalf, and a little bit on mine, because I want to read that book!

Seconding the recommendation of a stiff drink....

{{{{{Barb}}}}} I'm so sorry.

Thanks guys-- I just veer wildly between being relieved because yes, I was frustrated, mostly because more than anything, I hate limbo. Tell me you want it or don't, but tell me something, dammit.

But at the same time, I feel like such a fucking failure.

NOT a failure. I would bet lots and lots of good money that this has nothing to do with the manuscript at all.

Probably not, Amy, but I'll never really know that for sure. And that insecurity will live with me for a while. I mean, empirically, I know it's a good manuscript-- it's a good story and I gave it everything I've got.

But right now, the manuscript is the fall guy for everything else and I just... right now, I'm tired of kicking at the football. (To keep going with the Charlie Brown references.)

Oh, Barb. What a kick to the stomach.

NOT a failure, or anywhere close.

Wish you were still here so we could drown your temporary (and yes, it's temporary because wild success WILL be yours, dammit) sorrow and frustration in mojitos at Annabel's.

Oh Barb. {{{Barb}}} I am so sorry. I am thirding and/or fourthing that call for a stiff, hard cabana boy drink.

And a new dress.

Oh, shit, Barb, I'm sorry. How disheartening, after all that work and all those damn revisions--and, like Susan, I wanted to read it, damnit!