It’s late February again, which can only mean one thing: I am, once again, awaiting word on my application to grad school. The customary pall of dread I carry around with me this time of year seems a little lighter this time around, for some reason; perhaps it’s just that I’ve gotten so practiced at being rejected that I’ve come to expect it.
Friends and family alike have gamely offered their comfort and support, particularly along the lines of the whole “The third time’s the charm” approach, but I have never attached much credence to the “Three is a magic number” philosophy; the only magic involving the number three for me has been that that is the number of children I have–a case in which the number three has resulted in approximately equal parts magic and chaos, in my opinion.
I think my yearly admissions-angst is also tempered this year by a small amount of annoyance: the program web site does, in fact, state that applicants should receive word by “late February.” Waiting until the 28th, in my opinion at least, takes that statement a bit too literally.
On the other hand, the very real possibility that only those who are being rejected are being made to wait until the very last day of the month for notification has not escaped my attention. After all, the university will only have to send out 12 acceptance letters, but if past years are any indication, they’ll have upwards of 400 rejections to send out–in their position, I’d probably be dragging my feet, too.
So what is next for me? Well, once the formal notification arrives, I’ll have to make a decision about the whole self-publication thing. (Is it too obvious what I believe my notification letter will contain?) Those in favor of self-publication argue that there is no shame in it, citing the names of many famous authors who went that route (Thoreau, Whitman, Twain); purists in the other camp remain unconvinced. Somewhere in the middle is me, and a “mentoring press” that has agreed to publish my novel.
This press does not accept every manuscript they receive (only 1 of 9 are accepted), which makes me feel a little better about it. And I do believe in my book, and that it’s worth publishing and worth reading. But there is still a squeamish little purist worming little holes of doubt into the darker recesses of my mind, whispering that maybe I just haven’t found the right agent yet, or that this submission will be The One.
It’s sort of my thinking that if the university says no, then perhaps it’s time to say yes to the press–but I haven’t reached that point yet.
On the other hand, it is already “late February”, so a decision will be coming soon.
What do you all think about self-publishing? I’d love to know…