You've endearingly executed those final essential elements to your novel - you've engrossed yourself in expert advice about synopses - you've expedited queries - you've been excruciatingly rejected; eliminated from the slush - except ... you also embrace the ever expanding expectations erected by a couple of entire manuscript requests.
However, your excitement does somewhat ebb after reviewing everyone's rejections, and your exigent need for endurance is masked by erratic enthusiastic emotions, evolving exclusively from the interest of a couple of agents.
Of course, equal to eventual high expectation is enigmatic doubt. 'What if they don't enjoy it? What if they don't enjoy it and all the rest of the agents reject me? What ensues then? What will eventuate when there aren't anymore agents to query? Is my book in need of an emergency re-evaluation? Are all these years spent drafting and redrafting and editing and repairing, at the expense of my esteem, all a waste? What then?'
How do you evolve as a writer when high expectation is no longer endorsed and ebullient energy is erased? How do you embark on your next enterprise and still exhibit high self-esteem?
I'd like to say I never ever wanted to give up this endeavor. But I have wanted to give up many times and I don't think that emotion will ever expire. In the end, we writers all know what we want. But we all hang our hopes onto emaciated threads that can't endure our excess baggage.
But we shouldn't let our emotions run away with our eternal eagerness to enforce ambition. Keep engaging in earnest determination toward your goal, no matter how long it takes. Because you're going to keep writing anyway, and you will evermore take pride in what elates you. Even when rejection electrocutes the only energy you think you have left, you will encounter the pain and then continue to write. Right?