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If It rains...put on a raincoat

This morning before I opened my gmail I was a woman filled with optimism. Here's how I saw it. First, I was going to win the fantabulous giveaway apartment on the 35th floor of the W Hotel and Residences courtesy of HGTV's Urban Oasis contest. I entered at least twice. And when my husband pessimistically pointed out that even if I won it I'd have to be zillions in taxes and zillions in maintenance, and besides he didn't like the way it had been decorated and we wouldn't have the money to redecorate, did I let him rain on my parade? Absolutely not. I blithely pointed out that I had also entered the American Express Sweepstakes where first prize was one million dollars. I would use the mil to pay the taxes etc. etc. on my posh NYC getaway pad. Oh, and my agent was excited about my new manuscript and we were anticipating (well, that's an exaggeration) all great responses. I fantasized a major book deal, etc.

So, I was going to have a swank pad at the W, one million dollars from American Express, and before Oprah finished out her last season she'd have me on to talk about my bestselling book BETTER LATE.

Then I opened my gmail. And there was an email there that made me depressed before I even opened it. And then more depressed after I opened it. Two rejections.

A stab in my gut. A bout of nausea. Emails quickly sent out to the friends who'd helped edit the manuscript and who love me, my husband who felt so bad for me, my son and daughter. Words of support, love, keep your chin up talk.

Then it started raining. Perfect. I didn't have an umbrella. Or a raincoat. I didn't care. I felt miserable. I could hear that voice in my head - the voice we've all heard - the voice we've all tried to do battle with - the voice saying face it, you're just not good enough. Get ready for more rejections. Face it, you've either lost it or maybe never really had it. The voice went on and on. I'd give up writing. I'd climb into my p.j.s and just crawl under the covers. I'd eat whatever I wanted and just get fat. The only problem was I was too miserable to eat.

And it was the not eating bit that actually turned me around. I couldn't help seeing the bright side of being too depressed to eat. It would mean I'd lose weight. I wouldn't even have to struggle when the waitress brought the dessert menu. I wouldn't give a damn about dessert. And that made me start to brighten up. Maybe the sun would come out.

I can still win the apartment at the W (that looks out at the Statue of Liberty and the whole harbor). There's at least another month before the American Express drawing so I can still win that million bucks.

And there's still other publishers that haven't rejected me yet. As my daughter told me to keep up my spirits, it only takes one.

It's still raining but I've come in out of the storm physically and emotionally. I refuse to give up on my dreams and fantasies. It's dreams and fantasies, after all, that are the secret to the fountain of youth.

And, look. I'm not in my pajamas. I'm not crawling under the covers. I'm not going to kick my hopes and dreams into the gutter.

And, as is obvious, I am not going to stop writing!

You're all welcome to come to my open house at the W!


  1. well, that's my Elise!!! just shake off the rain and keep doing all the things that you do best...and that's a lot of things, by the by! as my mom said about men and buses: 'another one will soon come along.'


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