Another rejection letter this a.m.. I have to admit to disappointment, it was for a rather good story (or so I thought) but I’m obviously doing something wrong.Back to the drawing board, perhaps I have nothing new to say or even anything old to say in a new way.
It was one of those mornings. Slept through alarm, leapt from leaba ( or rather, debedded from leaba, I don’t really do ‘leap’), stubbed already broken toe on bed post, screamed in agony which woke retired husband and he leapt (he can still do ‘leap’) from the bed – not a pretty sight - thinking I was roaring at him over something he had done wrong! As if my Jemser could ever do anything wrong. I had forgotten to put the heat on timer so the house was bloody freezing and the boys were intent on murdering each other. I stuck the cornflakes box between them, the Kellogs Wall. There is no colder war than that between siblings.
Then rush, rush, rush and I couldn’t find keys, purse or swipe. Ran around like the proverbial blue-arsed fly achieving nothing. Found keys, purse; swipe still on the missing list. Opened the hall door to find the rejection letter from the Sunday Tribune, a nasty letter from the building society telling me we were in arrears - as if we didn’t know - and a scary bill from the credit card company.
Then I set off to walk my little pal up to the school and we both admired the huge fragile paper disc of the moon sitting in a watery blue sky. And it wasn’t raining. And the sun was coming up slowly over the rooftops. So I took a deep breath and studied the moon to calm me. Try it sometime, it works, particularly at this time of the year.The Moon is yer only Man. Don’t stare at the sun, you’ll see dancing leprechauns if you stare at the sun, end up in Knock and probably go blind.
So me little pal yapped away about SpongeBob SquarePants, Santa, her part in the school production of ‘Oliver’, her horrible brothers, the dog she wants to get. She talks more than me – she’s going to be unstoppable when she hits puberty! As we strolled along laughing together and I thought-
Feck it. Maybe I am a one story wonder and will never be published again. But I have this - a walk on a crisp winter’s morning with someone who makes me smile, the moon and the sun both in the sky. The air is good, I'm not starving or wounded or even miserable. I still have a job, a healthy family and a warm and dry house. So stop bloody whinging and get on with it.Carpe Diem. Que Sera and whatever you're having yourself.
Writing fiction is so subjective, that which is one person’s drivel is another’s genius. In the end does all the clamour make a difference? New technology has meant that anyone with access to a PC can and does write. We all have a story to tell and there are so many people out there shouting about so many things that we soon won’t be able to hear ourselves think.
I love writing, reading and telling stories. It has filled a huge void in my life, it is my ‘thing’ and now that I’ve found it I will never, ever let it go.