I stand there outside the fence, looking at him. His eyes are wild and wary, following my every movement as I pull on my gloves. He paws at the ground and snorts out his displeasure at the confining barrier. I’ve never seen a more stubborn, ornery animal—the publishing industry.

I meet his challenging brown gaze head on as I climb over the fence. With practiced ease, I slowly lower myself down so as not to spook him. He tosses his head, mane flying, and trots around the enclosure just to show me there’s no way he’ll let me on his back—that path to publication.

While I distract him, Sam, my best wrangler, grabs his trailing reins. I smile when the skittish beast jerks back, trying to break free. I look him in the eye and say, “It’s you and me, bud, and I’m not leaving this ring ‘til one of us is broke.”

Sam grips his bridle and I climb onto the saddle, amidst the animal’s best efforts to side step me. With a firm grasp on the reins, I give Sam a curt nod, and then it’s show time—I submit my manuscript for consideration.

He twists and bucks, working in earnest to knock me off. I grit my teeth and hold on tight as his thrashing, jerky movements jar my spine. He’s relentless and obstinate. I land on my rear, hard and quickly roll out of the way—my first rejection letter.

I stand up feeling bruised, stupid and foolish until I see the haughty, laugh-in-your face look the creature gives me as he trots past, blowing puffs of air out his nose. I clench my fists and anger boils to the surface, my first gut reaction, but it’s quickly replaced by sheer determination. I dust off my jeans, put my hat back on, and nod to Sam to collect my mount once more—I submit my manuscript again.

Again, I climb up and again he throws me. We repeat the same dance over and over until my body is battered, my mind emotionally drained. I settle in the saddle again and lean over to whisper in his twitching ear, “I’m more willful than you, ‘ole boy.” His bridal released, the willful brute throws his head, trying to catch me, but I rear back just in time, having caught on to his game—I hone my craft.

This time around is different. He continues to buck me, but his jumps are not as high, nor are his twists quite so vehement. I stay on, my body moving in perfect counterpoint to his efforts to unseat me. One last bucking kick, and then he snorts and settles enough to let me walk him around the corral—Hoowha! My first sale.

After I dismount, I pat his neck and whisper soothing, encouraging words. As I lead him away, he nips at my shoulder. His retaliation makes me chuckle. I know that’s his way of telling me, ‘You didn’t break me. I just decided to let you come along for a ride.’