Today I am feeling down as all heck on my writing. Actually been feeling like this of a couple of weeks now. Feel like I’m wasting my time and effort to keep writing. This is a not better thought.
Here’s the better thought. I’m not suicidal.
A year to 18 months ago, feeling like this would have lead to almost constant thoughts of suicide. Now it doesn’t. This doens’t mean I don’t think about killing myself ever, but it’s mostly in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and I’m feeling bad, and generally I can acknowledge the thought and remind myself that suicide is not the answer. I may finally have learnt that I can face these bad feelings for what they are. Feelings.
And what are feelings? Mostly temporary.
Yes I feel bad in the here and now. But at some point that is going to change. I’m not sure when, but it will change. I feel bad about my writing today. Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll love it again. That’s what living with depression means. You live with it, every day. Even the bad ones.
Right well, that’s me done, going to move along and try to find an activity that makes my feelings change.
Feeling really bad about my writing at this point. Nothing I put down feels good or right. In total quandary as to whether or not I should continue writing.
Every writer goes through this sort of thing, I’m just wrestling with it right now. This is not about looking for false praise, it’s just a statement that I feel useless at the moment. The feeling will pass, I will find a way to kick my own arse into gear.
It’s generally accepted in psychological circles that cats are good for keeping calm. Whatever psychologist came up with that didn’t know my cat. She rules the roost with an iron claw, and a lot of shouting.
Over the last few months, my husband and I have been doing a lot of work on the house, including redecorating our bedroom. It’s not entirely finished because I can’t find a mirror I like for me to use when brushing my hair. But I did make another purchase resently, something that I have wanted for a long time, a chair for the bedroom.
Seems I’m not the only one who likes it.
She sheds so much hair that to save me having to hoover the chair everytime I want to sit down, I’ve put a throw over it that I can remove when I want to sit down – or I should say – when I’m allowed to sit down that is.
I’m not a great fan of wearing makeup, generally I can’t be bothered, generally I don’t leave the house, so I don’t need to. However, my skin is a bit dry and so I wanted to get a tinted moisturiser. Because I am whiter than white and rarely go out, I always have to select the lightest shades on offer, and that is usually called Ivory.
So I brought an ivory tinted moisturiser.
When I used it, it kind of looked like I’d put on a mud mask. It was noticeably darker than my skin.
I mentioned this to my hubby and daughter, and my daughter it said that was no surprise it didn’t match my skin, I don’t need ivory – I need ghost. She pointed out that she’s as pale as I am and that’s so pale we look like ghosts. Thankfully, the actual conversation was a lot more amusing than I can write it.
Then hubby chips in, says I need to go further. Where we ended up was imaging a whole new range of makeup.
Have recently read “We Should All Be Feminists”, and it’s shown me things I have been fortunately enough never to have experienced.
I not about to burn my bra, but I do consider myself a feminist. So there wasn’t a lot in the book that was a brand-new idea to me, but these points were explained in ways that I have never considered before.
The author, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, tells of how in Nigeria if a couple walk into a restaurant, the greeter will greet the gentleman, and not the lady. Now I have experienced that in the UK, but I never really thought about how it really is a sexist act. Funnily enough the sexist thing I have experienced comes shortly after that, where the menu with the prices is given to the man, as is the bill, even when I’ve asked for the bill.
There are other references that also made me think – the way that a woman alone will be questioned at a hotel in case they aren’t a patron, but a prostitute. This is horrific to me, a woman who has travelled overseas alone. I really wouldn’t know how to deal with that.
The book is very short (50 pages), and it’s a quick read – unless you actually stop and really think about the points made. And I guarantee if you read this book, it will make you think, it will stay with you for a while. I would highly recommend everyone read this book, where ever you stand on the issue, this book will give you food for thought.
Okay, reaction to the rejection over. Big girl pants on and behaving myself today.
After my wobble, I tripped over an older log of mine, this one: Getting an agent – some more ideas. So I read it. You know what, when I’m not an emotional cripple, I actually can talk some sense.
As a result, yesterday evening, after I’d finished working, I sat down with “The Writers and Artist Yearbook” (admittedly from 2019, but that’s new enough), and went through looking for other possible agents. I checked their websites to ensure that they were open to submissions and if so, what they wanted in a submission – not all agents want the same thing so there’s no point in sending the same thing to everyone.
I also had a bit of a chat about things with a couple of friends who were helpful with suggestions about agents they know and who cast a quick eye over my submission prep. I then spent this morning revising and polishing my pitch, synopsis and first 50 pages. And more importantly, I’ve submitted to another agent.
This is good on the principle that each submission is one step closer to the agent who’s going to take me on. But there’s still the awful wait of up to 3 months to hear possibly nothing if they aren’t interested. But that’s the way with agents. All I can do is write my best work and present it, and in the manner of “Sweet Charity”, do my best to live hopefully ever after.
Another day, another rejection. It gets difficult to stay positive when all you get is negative reinforcement.
I get my work out there, put myself out there, but I get a fair bit of negativity back, though in fairness, a little positivity too. I keep trying, I make submissions to agents and publishers, but the big publishers can only be accessed via an agent, and the agents just reject or just don’t respond.
I am a good writer, and quite a prolific one. Here are all but one of the books I have out (one is missing because it published 7 days ago and I haven’t had chance to change the graphic to my satisfaction yet):
The problem seems to be that I don’t fit easily into any particular pigeon hole. On those rare occasions when I get feedback, it’s not the writing they reject, it’s the fact that they don’t know how to market the work.
If the people whose job it is to sell stuff don’t know how to sell my writing, how should I? Marketing was never my strong suit. Well, here’s the thing, that’s what I’m going to have to figure out isn’t it? Learn to do the marketing.
Sigh, but not today, today I’m going to let myself experience the emotions another rejection brings up, I’m going to sort the TBR pile into the space I’ve recently made for it, and tomorrow I will dust myself down, pick myself up and submit again. I will learn and improve. As things should be.
I’m a winner, that’s not something I often say, but today it’s definitely true.
Today, I got a message from Alison Belsham, to tell me that I’d won a copy of one of her books from a free giveaway. How lucky is that?
I rarely win stuff like this, so I’m really grateful to win what I know to be such a fantastic book – and it’ll be signed! That’s so good. Definitely something to celebrate. Thanks to Alison, and it all goes to prove, you’ve got to be in it to win it.
Yesterday I talked about the nerve wracking experience of submitting to a competition – which by the way I did a few minutes ago. Normally for me nerve wracking means nail biting – literally. I bite my nails.
Or more correctly – I used to bite my nails.
I have no idea at what point I finally stopped biting my nails, but I do seem to have, I have ten actual nails now. Nails that extend beyond the nail bed. See:
Still got ugly hands, but the nails look great. I’m using OPI Nail Envy to help, just in case anyone was wondering.
Now I am not here as a beauty blogger, there are plenty of them around, so I’m not going there.
I’m writing this becuase of what it indicates.
I’ve been biting my nails all my life. I bite for bordom, stress, nervousness, when I’m happy, when I’m sad, basically, any time for any reason. And now I’ve stopped. I can’t tell you when, just that I did, but this is what calm and contentment can do for you.
I’m happy with it. And hopefully I can keep that up because right now it’s not only the one competition entry that I’m nervous about, but an agent submission that I’m waiting to hear about. Keep your fingers crossed for success on all fronts (and your nails unbitten too).
Between other things today, I have been working on my short story for the Honno submission. I’ve got the word count to the exact allowance, and I’ve checked spelling and grammar, all seems okay.
Only thing is – I’m not sure if it’s great or awful.
This kind of self doubt is not exactly a me problem, it’s a writer thing. Lots of writers I know suffer with what’s called ‘imposter syndrome’. We’re all just waiting to be found out. The reality is that we’re not imposters, but writing is a difficult game.
Anyway, one thing about the short story, is that it’s actually an origin story for the main character in a new series that I’m working on. So I’m hoping that my story gets picked because it’s the first test of the character, so if it gets rejected, I’m in trouble for the series. Very nerve wracking.