There are times when I hate to admit I’m wrong. To my credit, I typically have no problem admitting such a thing because, hey, none of us are perfect, right?
Not long ago, my nine-year-old showed me just how wrong I can be. We were on a walk with our dog (Buddy the Wheaten Terrorist—uh—Terrier) and came upon a group of kids playing football.
My son’s eyes locked on that football game like live missiles. “I’m going to ask them if I can play,” he said.
Just like that. No fear, no hesitation, and he was off to join the fray. I wasn’t particularly enthused by this because a few of the boys were teenagers, and all I could think was they would say no to my baby. Or worse, they would let him play and then be mean to him. The anticipation of having to jump in and save my kid from the big, bad teenage bullies had me gritting my teeth.
“Don’t you want to stay with us?” I yelled to my son.
At this point, he turned back, gave me the eye roll that I swear is biological in all males and kept walking.
“It’ll be fine,” he called.
“This is not good,” I said to the Wheaten Terrorist.
I watched my son get closer to the group, my mind racing with all the reasons I should not let him play with those teenagers. Buddy flopped on the ground, not a care in the world. Could it be that the dog and the nine-year-old knew something I didn’t? Impossible!
“Hey, kid,” one of the boys yelled. “You wanna play? We need another one.”
I eased up on gritting my teeth. The dog smiled at me. Yes, my dog smiles. I’m not crazy. Really.
After ten minutes of watching my son laugh and joke with the big, bad teenagers, I joined Buddy on the grass. Apparently, we weren’t going anywhere. Again, the terrorist grinned at me, and it was one of those I-told-you-so grins that I also think all males—even the canine ones—are born with.
“Knock it off,” I said. “It’s not over yet.”
After thirty minutes, the football game ended and my sweaty, filthy boy came back to us, his joy bursting from his body. ”Did you have fun?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “They were cool.”
Buddy stood and we resumed his walk while my son gave me the play by play of the game. Oh, to be nine again.
And then it hit me. Hard. When I saw that group of boys, I immediately panicked and didn’t want my son to ask them if he could play. I didn’t want him to be rejected. If he had taken my cues, he would have been denied his thirty minutes of fun because his mother worried someone would tell him no.
Maybe, I thought, I could learn something from his willingness to open himself up to rejection. Maybe the next time I send out a query, I can do it with my son’s voice in my head saying “It’ll be fine.” Maybe that would be a whole lot better than wondering if the editor will choose to resist.
We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Our fingers tapping on the mouse, about to hit send, feeling that bit of hesitation in our bellies over the possibility of rejection. It’s tough to send our work out, to worry that the editor won’t connect with our heroine. Perhaps some of us have not sent a query for fear of that rejection.
Here’s the big BUT. Are you ready?
BUT what if that editor does connect?
This is the lesson my son taught me that day. As writers, we have to be confident in our abilities, but allow ourselves to be vulnerable. As miserable as it can be, we need to keep risking those rejections if we want to see our names on book covers.
So, yes, on that day with my son, I admitted I was wrong. And I was relieved to do so because one day I want to hear an editor say, “Hey, kid, you wanna play? We need another one.”
***
RU Crew, do you have any tips on dealing with rejection? We’d love to hear from you.
Join us on Friday when Kelly Stone shows us how a practical technique for the subconscious mind helps with writing.
Bio: Adrienne Giordano is a co-founder of Romance University and writes romantic suspense, contemporary romance and women’s fiction. She spent seventeen years working in and around the newspaper and advertising industry and, after starting a family, chose to work part-time as a marketing consultant to allow her more writing time. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, a former board member of Windy City RWA, a member of Kiss of Death, RWA’s Women’s Fiction chapter and RWA’s PRO group.
Adrienne’s books have been finalists in the 2008 and 2009 Linda Howard Award of Excellence contests, the 2009 Sheila and the 2010 Write Stuff Contest. For more information visit Adrienne’s website at http://www.adriennegiordano.com.
Kelsey's serving up bite-sized morsels for your noggin on her new 
Hi Adrienne,
I loved this story. Thanks for sharing. I think it’s great that your son has that kind of confidence and courage at his age.
Buddy’s on his way to superstardom with that adorable picture. Can’t see why you think he’s a terrorist. He looks perfectly calm to me.
Tracey
Posted by TraceyDevlyn | September 8, 2010, 5:30 amPlease! As an owner of an alpha male dog yourself, you should know.
My little guy definitely proved something to his mama that day. I was proud of him.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 7:50 amHi Adrienne.
Great story, and may an editor say, “Hey, kid, you wanna play?” in the very near future. Your stories are excellent and I can hardly wait until you share them with the world.
Lucie j.
Posted by Lucie J. Charles | September 8, 2010, 7:28 amHi, Lucie! Thank you for stopping by. We’ve been sharing this journey since ourr Lethal Ladies days so I’m hoping we both get to hear an editor say it!
You are a blessing in my life and I’m thankful for your constant support.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 7:53 amOooh, that picture of Buddy has me quaking in my boots. Seriously, where is his muzzle? tee hee
Isn’t it a universal truth that we are kinder to others than we are to ourselves? More encouraging, more forgiving, more loving to everyone else, but when it comes time to look in the mirror, we tend to have negative thoughts.
Can you tell this post resonated with me? hehe
Perhaps it would help, the next time my finger is hovering over the “send” button, to picture one of my sons in the same position, and tell myself whatever I would tell him. Like “you did a fabulous job, you should send it to them”, or “you won’t know unless you try”.
Thanks for an encouraging post.
Posted by Luanna | September 8, 2010, 7:31 amHi Luanna. It’s always a party with Buddy. Right now he’s sitting at my feet nibbling on my toe.
Must be snack time.
I completely agree with you that we are kinder to others. I think women in particular have this issue. We put so much pressure on ourselves to do more, to do it better, etc. Sometimes we need a nine-year-old to set us straight!
Thanks for commenting. Glad you liked the post.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 7:58 amGreat story! And really cute dog.
When I’m about to try something that feels like a risk, I ask myself something a yoga teacher taught me to ask: Whats the worst thing that can happen?
The worst thing is that the agent/editor says no. I can live with that.
And maybe we should ask what’s the best thing that can happen. She could say yes!
Posted by Edie Ramer | September 8, 2010, 7:46 amHi Edie. It’s amazing how quickly we get used to people telling us no. Writers are a tough breed. We have to be. Otherwise, we’d be curled up on the floor bawling our eyes out!
I’ve also noticed that I’ve started ranking my rejections. It really is a sickness. LOL. I think we all have those rejections that hurt more than others.
Thanks for stopping by.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 8:34 amHi Adrienne,
“Hey, kid, you wanna play? We need another one.”
Great Post. It illustrates the boldness we lose on our way to adulthood, and the barriers fear and anxiety erect between ourselves and our goals.
Here’s to all of us being more open to putting our babies out there, and risking getting the call to come out and play.
Posted by Cia | September 8, 2010, 7:49 amHi Cia. You are so right. My son and his friends have no problem offering their opinions. It makes me wonder at what point (maybe the teenage years?) we adults learned to stifle that boldness.
I hope you get the “You wanna play” call very soon! Thanks for stopping by.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 8:38 amMorning Adrienne!
Boys and their dogs, eh? =)
I think we become more fearful of what “could” happen when we become parents. You can just see all the tragedies they can get into! And maybe a little more cautious when something bad actually does happen. Last winter, hubby informed me I looked like my grandmother when I was walking on a slippery patch of driveway. And I was. When I was twelve, I’d have taken a running shot at the driveway to see how far I could slide, but remembering the spill I’d taken just a few weeks earlier, all of a sudden I turned on the caution lights.
Little boys don’t have caution lights like those. And maybe next year, when memories fade of the wipe out on ice-covered Main Street (Oh, yeah, I know how to make a spectacle of myself!) I’ll be a little less like Grandma Starkenburg and more like Peggy Fleming. =)
Great post A!
carrie
Posted by Carrie Spencer | September 8, 2010, 8:53 amHi Adrienne,
My kids are fearless and it scares me. I see myself at their ages and I was always in the background. Now, they inspire me to do more. I won’t admit how long I read RU before sending a comment. Courage is contagious.
Adorable puppy, by the way.
Mary Jo Burke
Posted by Mary Jo Burke | September 8, 2010, 10:32 amHi Mary Jo. Thanks for stopping by and for commenting! Sometimes what seems like it should be so simple takes a good dose of courage. I remember I posted something on a loop once and, even though I thought it was harmless, someone took exception to it and fired back at me. I kept staring at it and wondering what I said that was so bad.
I think all these experiences toughen us up for the long haul in this crazy world of publishing.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 10:55 amHi Carrie. Tell your hubby we can’t underestimate an icy driveway. I slipped on ours last year and wound up with a concussion. I take slippery driveways very seriously now!
And you’re right, little boys don’t have caution lights. Much to the dismay of their mothers!
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 10:50 amGreat story, Adrienne! We can learn a lot from our kids. I admire your son’s confidence! He didn’t think of “what if” — he just did it.
Posted by Laurie London | September 8, 2010, 11:28 amHi Laurie. Yep. He just did it. Maybe Nike has something there!
Thanks for stopping by.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 11:55 amVery nice story, Adrienne, and so very timely for me. My fingers just won’t hit send– they hover and hover and then turn to editing some more. I’ll bet Buddy chases his tail less than I do.
My son isn’t very athletic, so when he wanted to go out and play football, I almost passed out with terror. Then I thought, he knows he’s not athletic, and he still wants to go out and do it. That’s courage. They teach us so much, don’t they?
Posted by Sonali | September 8, 2010, 1:00 pmHi Sonali. Good for him for giving it a go.
I think you should go ahead and send that query. Did you read Edie’s comment above? The worst thing they can say is no.
Thanks for commenting!
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 2:46 pmA -
You know already how much I love this post. A great story, well told.
It reminded me that the world isn’t necessarily a pie with only so many slices. Depending on your talent, luck and persistence, the pie can be as big as the amount of quality writing we can stuff into it.
And I’m convinced this is exactly one of the reasons humans persist in having children: so we can continue to catch glimpses of the world through their perspectives when we’ve otherwise put on our fearful and cynical sunglasses.
Hugs to both the Wheaten Terrorist and your fearless little boy!
K-
Posted by KelseyBrowning | September 8, 2010, 1:33 pmThanks, K. I like your pie analogy. Not only can the pie be any size, the pieces can be different sizes. You might have a lot of talent and a little bit of luck, but they all make up that pie.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 2:48 pmWe can learn so much from our children. I love this story and I’ll remember it myself when I think about being rejected. My five-year-old is like that. My 15yo used to be, but not so much anymore. I wonder whether it’s because he’s experienced rejection and now has his own fears, or whether he’s been around me so long that he’s picked up on my cautious, protective cues.
Posted by PatriciaW | September 8, 2010, 4:36 pmHi Patricia. Now you have me convinced that we lose that boldness during our teenage years. I think we may have to do a post on that to find the answer.
I don’t think we moms can blame ourselves for being protective. We wouldn’t be good mothers if we weren’t. It does make me wonder where the line between protective and too protective falls.
Thanks for stopping by.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 4:50 pmGreat story. I guess the moral of the story is the only way you truly fail is to not try.
Where’s a picture of the Wheaton Terrrorist…er Terrier?
Posted by Cynthia D'Alba | September 8, 2010, 5:53 pmHi Cynthia. LOL. The photo on the page IS the Wheaten Terrorist. I know, he looks so sweet.
Thanks for stopping by.
Posted by Adrienne Giordano | September 8, 2010, 7:01 pmGreat story, Adrienne…and so true. It was kind of like that for me at RWA national. I almost didn’t go because I didn’t know anyone. At the last minute I decided what have I got to lose. I’m so glad I went. I met some great people and learned so much.
Posted by Wendy Marcus | September 8, 2010, 7:28 pmI think as kids get older, especially into the pre-teen years, peer group pressure chips away at the “boldness” factor. I secretly admired kids who were confident enough not to conform to what everyone else was doing.
Thanks for sharing your story with us. I love Wheaten Terriers. They look so friendly.
Posted by Jennifer Tanner | September 8, 2010, 8:46 pmAs writers we have to learn to find our boldness. We’ve hid it underneath our fear. I tell myself to do the opposite of what I want to do. Most times it brings me out of my comfort zone.
As parents we have to teach our children to be bold, sometimes they have to remind us to do the same.
Great story.
Posted by LaShaunda | September 9, 2010, 11:33 amLove that story.
My Granny (a very wise woman) used to tell me ‘Don’t get off the dance floor until the judge taps you on the shoulder!” Whenever, I hesitate, worry, and second-guess myself into inaction, I hear that voice in my head and I push forward. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I don’t.
Loved that story. Thank you for sharing it.
Posted by Robin Covington | September 9, 2010, 1:01 pmHi Adrienne,
I’m so glad I read your post, even if I got to it late. A wonderful story! Thank you so much for sharing it. I’m going to keep it in mind this week as I go to my first big conference.
Sally
Posted by Sally Bayless | September 11, 2010, 4:29 pm