It’s a funny state of limbo, waiting for an agency to call and say they want to represent me. Waiting for them to say that they really enjoyed Breathe and would love to help me get it published. Perhaps giving me a list of changes that need to be completed, arranging to meet for coffee…
I know that I should be cracking on with book 2. After all, the Police characters are already formed and ready to go, except for the new set of bad guys. I’ve even written a plot outline. So what’s the problem?
It’s just…what if nobody wants it? I’m prepared for nobody in the first round of submissions to want it- I think I’ve made it better since I sent it off a few weeks ago anyway. So I have the next set of five agents ready to go. But, my head keeps saying; what’s the point of starting a second book in a series if no-one wants to read the first one?
Yes, the doubt demon has struck. The ‘I’m so bad at this I may just as well play on-line Scrabble all day. Or knit more scarves (I am really improving my knitting btw). Or bake cakes.’ Or… fill in your own procrastinatory doings. Yes, I’m waiting for external validation. Sad but true.
Now, I’m no spring chicken. I’ve been around long enough to know that doing something simply for the love is the best feeling in the world. I know that the pleasure we should get from doing something beautifully should not need to be shared with anybody in order to make it worthwhile. But I’m new at this, and I want someone to put a tick on my mss. In red.
I think that’s why I haven’t taken the self-publishing route. Just giving it a bit more time. Maybe someone will see a story they could love. Maybe….
So, what if the worst-case scenario comes to pass? I’m having a go at scriptwriting for the TV. (There’s a challenge should anybody need one- bbc Writers’ Room is open for submissions now). A totally different way of writing, but fascinating to get to grips with. And it has to be good for general writing as I really have to cut the excess baggage and get to the point. I’m not moping, honest.
The demon of doubt still looms large in a lip-licking, ‘let me devour you and spit out your bootlaces, puny human’ kind of way, but I think I’ve got him distracted at the moment.
Was that the postman?