When one is subjected to repeated buffetings by life, one gets used to it - one rides with it most of the time - until the 27th Wave - or whatever the magical wave is - that somehow pulls you under and half drowns you and leaves you attempting rise from beneath it and scramble back up the beach.
So the 27th Wave - or agent's rejection email arrived today. Clearly I just need to get back on the horse and so on, and not be thrown by it. At first I just ignored it, but as the evening wore on I thought "when? why?" "how" can/will I be published again? Is it really so dire? No, I've read much worse books by well liked authors, is it really my lack of contacts? My failure to have studied a creative writing course? Or chummed up with the Granta boys? Why do badly written books by idiots get published? Because agents and publishers will take a punt on them because they feel safe with them. And then I go back to the matter of personal taste... assuming they've read the first few pages, these are people who don't like the way I write, and nothing will endear me to them - even if I were writing about rap and crack addicts and the latest technology. So it isn't my age or anything like that. I am arguing with myself, because I do not like to cry unecessarily. I am beginning to feel "it's unfair!". Other people are getting their place in the sun, their lucky breaks - so how about mine?
Never mind, nice things happen too. Stops, scratches head and tries to remember: well, today I went to Deal and sat in the sun with Finn and talked about smoking and drugs and other matters of mutual interest. He has been fairly good about the film course in Deal - it's his "holiday" basically. I really hope he enjoys it and it leads somewhere.
And this is leading me back to the question - why is my work not leading me anywhere? Is it the lack of a sub-plot? Is it the complex language? Is it some bizarre fault in me that I just can't quite see? Or is it because I am living in God's time and the kairos is still a bit of a way off. It is made all the more frustrating by the fact that I have virtually no time to work on the other book at the moment. At least if I were making progress with that I'd feel things were looking up. Not sure how to get out of the Slough of Despond and on the road to the Maidenhead of Endeavour...
So the 27th Wave - or agent's rejection email arrived today. Clearly I just need to get back on the horse and so on, and not be thrown by it. At first I just ignored it, but as the evening wore on I thought "when? why?" "how" can/will I be published again? Is it really so dire? No, I've read much worse books by well liked authors, is it really my lack of contacts? My failure to have studied a creative writing course? Or chummed up with the Granta boys? Why do badly written books by idiots get published? Because agents and publishers will take a punt on them because they feel safe with them. And then I go back to the matter of personal taste... assuming they've read the first few pages, these are people who don't like the way I write, and nothing will endear me to them - even if I were writing about rap and crack addicts and the latest technology. So it isn't my age or anything like that. I am arguing with myself, because I do not like to cry unecessarily. I am beginning to feel "it's unfair!". Other people are getting their place in the sun, their lucky breaks - so how about mine?
Never mind, nice things happen too. Stops, scratches head and tries to remember: well, today I went to Deal and sat in the sun with Finn and talked about smoking and drugs and other matters of mutual interest. He has been fairly good about the film course in Deal - it's his "holiday" basically. I really hope he enjoys it and it leads somewhere.
And this is leading me back to the question - why is my work not leading me anywhere? Is it the lack of a sub-plot? Is it the complex language? Is it some bizarre fault in me that I just can't quite see? Or is it because I am living in God's time and the kairos is still a bit of a way off. It is made all the more frustrating by the fact that I have virtually no time to work on the other book at the moment. At least if I were making progress with that I'd feel things were looking up. Not sure how to get out of the Slough of Despond and on the road to the Maidenhead of Endeavour...
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