In 2024 I queried 64 agents for my completed memoir. I had 10+ full manuscript requests and one agent I spoke to on the phone (God did that feel promising). I ended up with over 15 personal rejections, many with the tone of ‘this is great, BUT...’

I had many moments of what is even the point, do I walk away from this project and focus on fiction, this rejection is too heavy for one sensitive girlie to endure, etc. etc. But I kept going, despite. Something bigger than me kept me going.

I didn’t get an agent this year but I did publish a new essay for the inaugural issue of Culterate Magazine. No agent but I won the Cincinnati Review’s Nonfiction Writing Contest with the title essay of my memoir, a contest I’ve submitted to annually for 3 years. I didn’t get an agent but I widened my literary community and read at my first reading. No agent but I finally shared the subject of my memoir with my father and my family, relieving years of anxiety.

Grateful for this insistent, transcendent grit that keeps me writing and submitting. I’ve never worked so hard at anything.