My book ‘August The Month yet again had a pitfall. I know I’m dramatic but that is how my heart is shaped right now. You know how long this book took me to finish, and turns out it is still not good. No publisher is picking it up. (As yet) I was regretfully rejected, thrown in a bin, damn those endless hours during that five years.

This would be my fifth time being rejected since I have started querying. I am so deep in it, so invested in it. I want my book to be published so bad, To see some sun in a lousy weather. I wanted someone to love it and want it as much as I have. The other part of my head understands the process. I get it. I get the fact that probably my manuscript needs more development. That is a given. And I get that my MS will at the end connect with its publisher when time is meant to be. I get all that wait and be patient logics. I get that most authors I deem myself or aspire to be like have been rejected thrice more than me. Then why am I being dramatic when it is only five rejections?

The thing is I think I fear I’m getting more used to rejections mails. I constantly expect the worst and boy do they come. Sengathi ziyamemana. Zithi we o, bheka ngapha nangu lo… asimucishe- na next week senze njalo. I think it’s sad that I am faced with those thoughts. I’m also prone to seeing the negative. And those are results from being rejected so many times. I have become prone to it. Sometimes I think maybe I have lost faith and that thinking paralyze me.

Although in the beginning while writing I thought that once I get rejected I will wear my sneakers, listen to Miriam Makeba while sipping a glass of wine. Instead, I am doing the opposite. I feel like a fool in love with a broken heart… YES! With every rejection I am a snort and a sneeze… and a cough all through the week. Tissues everywhere and mind you, I have sinus so you can imagine my nights. Oh poor husband of mine. He has to be ready with a glue, to glue me together in order I am able to face the morning.

This brings me to this other two -four -six publisher who decided to play hide and seek with my MS they told me they misplaced my book. But get this they had my mail address. ‘How do you have my mail address, if you lost my MS? It was an attachment and I still have that sent mail.’ They went on to say I should resend it, they seem to have really lost my manuscript. I laughed because banezibindi shame! I had to calm down because, they are the hand and I am just a body without hands. So, I have to keep begging. At times I might have to stand and show that I have legs that can run too.

The most important thing is, I have to believe why I believed in the story in the first place. Why I spent so many years crafting this world Why did I believe in my words. Why did I believe in my own voice. I cannot give up now. It would be really a waste. Because when I do then I won’t have a story to tell. So this moment I do believe I have readers waiting for August The Month. I believe that it takes time. I believe in the PROCESS… there I said it. Well you know I had to cry first before I could write this post isn’t… I am planning to do a whole new rewrite of ATM… I will use the feedback I got for the reader’s report effectively. I want this book to be not only good, but great and timeless. So I have to put in the hard work and embrace the process.