I think the bane of being a writer is the waiting game. Some weeks the emails and the phone calls don't stop, then others you feel like a leper. These last two weeks are some of those times. Week after week, my routine is always the same: work day job four days a week, write three days a week. Countless emails, rejections, interest, fading interest, you name it, I've seen it.
I don't get depressed at the art or craft, I get down on myself about the absence of communication. I wrote a book that extremely graphic and dark, which is a microcosm of my style as a whole. I don't write happy go lucky stories, I write things that make you feel like you shouldn't be alone at night. I can't submit to regular contests because my language is too graphic or my subject matter is too dark. I don't write weird fringe literature either, anyone who read Silence of the Lambs or Catch-22 can certainly sit down with any of my work.
I've been sent letters from editors of porn/erotica publications telling me that my story is great, they just can't use it. I'm been kicked out of writing competitions for my subject matter, not my ability. Imagine how that feels. I have a handful of agents I can query, because I sadly fall under the blanket term "Horror" when really my work is deeply psychological. I am BEYOND used to the opening line of "I usually don't read stuff like this but...." It's a blessing that people who don't read stuff as dark as mine are making an emotional connection with me.
Do I have a pity party? No, one most accounts I'm far better off than most but I do know that when someone finally says, "We've sold it and we're going to give people some nightmares", the taste of victory is going to be that much more bloody than I had ever dreamt.