Writing is a pain in the arse, frankly. I’m not kidding myself that I’m currently anything more than a small amoeba clinging to a rock on a beach battered by the tides of the vast ocean that is the world of writing, but in time…… that metaphor ran away with me a bit.
The fact that I’ve been writing on and off for twenty years is irrelevant; now is when things are starting to go somewhere. Which of course means that there’s still a lot of rejection ahead. Such is life.
This is my atrociously maudlin way of saying that my latest round of submissions to Black Library was rejected.
This was me this morning. Only less jaundiced and with hair.
In the two(ish) years that I’ve been submitting work to Black Library only one short story out of twenty-nine has been good enough for them to ask me to write it in full. Even that didn’t get anywhere. So this round of rejections is a bit of a bugger, really. I’m going to have to have a ponder about what to do next. If I do submit to them again, it may just be a few ideas, rather than the deluge I have tended to spew into their inbox (lovely image, I know) in the past.
But that’s for the future.
Also in the future, but much closer, I have more exciting news. I recently submitted one of my old short stories to Nevermet Press and, after being asked to amend a few things, it has been accepted!
Me again. I really do look like that when I wink. Disturbing.
“Caretaker” will appear on the site’s blog on Friday 9th March, and in both print and e-book format later on as part of an anthology. Obviously I’m pretty excited about this, it feels like I’m starting to get somewhere in the writing business, even if I am still a small amoeba clinging to a rock…… you get the idea.
So: good news and bad. The life of a writer.
I’m off to my fridge to retrieve some cider. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.