Ok, so I’m completely sick of rejections. Like. A lot. I recently underwent the frustration of a noted journal asking to see a particular story, showing enthusiasm for said story, then emailing to tell me they loved the story but had no room for it. I guess they didn’t love it that much after-all. Sigh. I know it’s all part of the ebb and flow. But currently I’m ebbing so far backwards I’m about to hit Tasmania. What to do?
The past month has been taken up entirely with my new job, finishing the old job and a visit from family. There has been no writing apart from speeches and forewords. The process of turning my novel into a novella has thus far only managed to fill me with dread and I’m pretty confident all I’ve managed to do is make it worse.
Hence my decision to start the next book. It feels good. The plan for it is already well under way. The first chapter is complete and the ideas are brewing nicely. I know I’ll come back to the first one. There’s so much in it I love. It’s not an easy thing, abandoning your baby. But if you love something… you know the drill.