Bad Day

Yes, all writers have bad days and this is the worst for a long time. A morning when I awoke at six and dripped ever deeper into an abyss of nothingness. I look at what I have achieved, a great amount, and then realise that it is almost impossible to break through the walls of publication. How notorious do you have to be to get bought up -- and how many close friends do you have to have in publishing to make that happen? I know it's a lottery and I know a lot of stuff is passed over without being closely read. But there are times when all this stuff really hurts, really penetrates the soul. I have so much more to do, and that's coming along just fine. The more writing I do the more I think why bother? Is this also going to sit around in the Post Office and email going back and forth as I read yet another crap book, often written by someone other than the named author. On this subject I got a great reject from Simon Trewin at PFD this week on the new novel. I have great hopes for it as long as I can get out of this Hell. Another great possible for THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR but I'm not saying anything more. It's a long shot but if it comes off it could solve all the problems. This is a crazy way of living. Maybe I ought to have poodled along at the Beeb until they chucked me out, as they have done for almost everyone over 50, and got a full pension and bucketloads of money for going early. However, there would be no novels and no world shattering ideas, no plays, and probably nothing else. Life, eh! There ought to be a health warning for newborn babies. That's all, folks. Oh yeah, did the writing very early this morning but unusually, as you can see, it failed to lift the spirits.