Giving up
By the summer of 2020, my latest rejection ringing clearly in my head like a bell, I made the momentous decision to give up being a writer. In fact, never having been published and not considering myself to be a proper writer in the first place, I was actually giving up hope of being a writer.
I was casting off twenty-six years of hope, of work, of money invested in computers, stamps, manila envelopes, copies of the Artists and Writers Yearbook... it all suddenly meant nothing. I had failed. To be able to acknowledge that actually felt great. A burden had been removed, a metaphorical weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Now I would throw my efforts into my new job and be a great success as a teacher.
However, I had one book to finish off and another to write, having promised a friend that he would feature in it. My last book was Metano Island and it was a spin-off from the Lost Man series. Metano Island was a wartime murder mystery set on the eponymous island in the Med. It had been years since I had even considered the possibility of success.
I was casting off twenty-six years of hope, of work, of money invested in computers, stamps, manila envelopes, copies of the Artists and Writers Yearbook... it all suddenly meant nothing. I had failed. To be able to acknowledge that actually felt great. A burden had been removed, a metaphorical weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Now I would throw my efforts into my new job and be a great success as a teacher.
However, I had one book to finish off and another to write, having promised a friend that he would feature in it. My last book was Metano Island and it was a spin-off from the Lost Man series. Metano Island was a wartime murder mystery set on the eponymous island in the Med. It had been years since I had even considered the possibility of success.
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