Image by Bubble Head H_W
I was talking to a friend yesterday about my writing journey – the initial interest from some agents only to be told not unique enough – too unique – market already saturated with genre – you know the drill.
My friend went on to say that she couldn’t understand why i continued with my dream when agents/publishers are less willing to take risks in the current climate – and that I’ve left it too late to be an author in today’s market. I should have done it years ago.
She continued by discussing the ebook world and suggested I try there if i really wanted to bother. I was gutted by her comments – I felt as though she’d ripped my dreams from out of the sky and trampled on them, before scraping the sorry mess from off the floor, only to put them through the mincer just to make sure they were completely annihilated.
The focus then moved onto the story story world, and she said I should be doing that first. Well actually, I do frequent this world too – even though I’m not a great fan of reading them – and I pay to get them critiqued y a writing magazine – I’m learning all the time – give me my due I want to scream, from behind my cappuccino. And I think she may have forgotten that she read my recent one that I sent off to a competition – results still pending – and she ruddy loved it – oh how fickle!
I’m an avid reader in the women’s fiction genre – as well as others – and again, I can’t read them without learning about structure, pace, vocabulary…
She’s a great friend, but she left me feeling dejected – hopeless – as if i don’t write I have nothing left except for being a wife and a mother – which in itself is a colossal task at times. However, I need to write – I have so many stories pulsating around my head that I should put them down on screen and paper – it makes me happy. I shouldn’t let anyone crush my dreams as they belong to me – to me, I tell you.
This morning, whilst still feeling a little low, i was putting some clothes away for daughter #2, when I found her football kit – which I had loving ironed yesterday and put on her bed for her to put away – shoved into a draw that could barely close. I pulled it out and discovered that it was more creased than when I pulled it out of the washing machine. The final straw of hopelessness I fear.
So, should I still have hope, or be hopeless – I know what the parents amongst you will be saying about the latter issue!
Happy – & Hopeful – Word Flow One & All.