The misery of rejection, seems to be a skirted issue online. Perhaps authors are worried that if they are too open about how miserable the process is, then their goal of getting their work traditionally published will be doomed forever.
It is however, a particularly odd emotion. To have worked on crafting a book for many years, you have poured your heart and soul into it, suffered the crippling waves of self doubt niggling thoughts you're wasting your time. You have finally finished, had great feedback, built up the excitement that your dream may be on the cusp of becoming a reality. So you search for, find and research agents, learn and follow their unique and in some cases bizarre requirements for submitting, finally hit send and .... and... wait. For a nauseatingly high percentage of submissions that's it.. you wait, and nothing. Just a lingering worry that you've missed the reply in your junk folder, or haven't waited long enough before going through the process again. I'd describe the feeling as hopeful demoralisation. You have to be ever hopeful or else you've given up on your dream, but you feel perpetually demoralised that you're still plugging away at something that seems increasingly impossible. You become a very suspicious person, with an uneasy sense you're deluding yourself.
Like a great many people it seems, I have written a novel. Its sufficiently good to have earned high praise from my editor, and family members (but I worry that those I have paid or am related to are not being completely honest) but not "good" (commercial) enough to have earned more than a polite "not for me, no thank-you" form email from a depressingly low percentage of queried agents.
So what's next? I guess self publishing awaits, if I can scrape my wounded soul up off the floor for long enough to realise I know nothing of online marketing and am a mere fart in a hurricane on social media...
A random collection of thoughts about trying to become a published author, the joy of writing, some short stories and general imaginings.
Saturday, November 23, 2019
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Bad Blood (Flash fiction to see in the New Year!)
The boy sat on the edge of his bed, curtains drawn back to let the cool night in. Before him the Milky-Way arced across the inky sky ...

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The boy sat on the edge of his bed, curtains drawn back to let the cool night in. Before him the Milky-Way arced across the inky sky ...
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Given the sheer cosmic vastness it was amazing we made it so long. It was an evening like any other, the sun set and the night began i...
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"There is hope for humanity!" I exclaimed to my mate (JB), whose patience is proving to be remarkably resilient as I bang on and o...
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