Refusing to Go Out

[or just: "Day 38. Still Here."]

I didn’t expect the silence to be this loud.

Querying is a strange kind of wilderness. You send your story—your heart—into the unknown and wait. Days stretch. Weeks blur. Some responses arrive like lightning, others not at all. And you start to wonder if no news is just a softer kind of no.

I’m deep in that stage now. More silence than I thought I could bear. And still, I send more. Because Breath of Starlight matters to me. Not just as a book—but as the beginning of something bigger. A world I’ve been building for years. A voice that yearns to echo across pages.

Rejections are part of the story.

They sting, yes. Even the kind ones. Even the form ones. Even the ones that never come.

But here’s the truth I’ve had to hold close: every “no” is proof I tried. Proof I stepped forward. And that means something. Especially when you’re doing this while living with disability, while juggling life, while trying to believe your story still deserves a place.

I don’t know where this road ends yet. But I do know I’m walking it with eyes open. I’m revising. I’m listening. I’m also protecting the bones of the story, the soul of it. I won’t let fear trim it into something smaller than it’s meant to be. I won't rush just to make it easier to shelve. I’m querying with integrity, with stubborn hope, and with the weight of a world I believe in.

Oddly enough, my lowest point didn’t come from a form rejection or an auto-pass. It came from a name I’ve loved since I was a child. An icon. Someone I dreamed might see me.

I queried them. I hoped. I prayed.

And—there was a spark. A flicker. Just enough to make me feel lit from the inside. Just enough to believe they saw something.

But the rejection that followed was both bracing and harrowing. Not cruel. Just... intimate. Sharp where I didn’t know I was soft.

Stopping felt like surrender, so I blitzed. I sent more queries. I faced the silence. I stared at the spreadsheet, hands shaking, and still moved the numbers forward. Because I meant it when I said this story matters. When I said I matter.

It’s Day 38.
120 queries sent.
Most still unanswered.
A few full requests glimmering at the edge of hope.

And still I’m here.
Still querying.
Still dreaming.
Still daring to believe that someone, somewhere, will hold this story like I do.

Just like the starlight in my tale—
I refuse to go out.
I refuse to be small.
I refuse to be anything other than myself.

Because the only way through the darkness is to carry your own light.