Another rejection today. That makes six since late August and what's today? The fourth of September? Okay, not worried, not worried...keep writing.

The latest rejection made me laugh a little because you see, the story began as a kind of purge of some icky-ness that was my violent childhood. All but a sentence in the middle and the very last paragraph were true (the names had been changed to protect the guilty). It was a horror piece, sent to a horror market, and unlike reality, I added what I hoped would appear to be a twist at the end, an extra stab to the reader's heart.

My personalized rejection, which I love and am very thankful for receiving, said while my characters and dialog were strong, the story had no plot and the end was predictable.

Predictable. I had to laugh because if I had known that time in my life was predictable, I probably wouldn't have had to have all that therapy!