After our walk I showered, put on my pyjamas and settled down ... another drum roll if you please ... to write. Or rather to edit my novel.
One of the long-time friends whom we hadn't seen for a long time asked how the writing was going. I shrugged and um-ed and ah-ed. Truth is I'd been putting it off. Having finished novel4 at the end of October I'm at the editing stage. That isn't too bad in itself but it's the thought that once it's edited - or the first few chapters at least are at a stage fit to be seen - I have to start sending it off to agents. And that means rejection.
'Not necessarily,' long-time friend said.
And it's true. And, as I've said before, I do think this is 'the one'. But I thought that about the others. But I must think it's good because if I don't there's not really much point writing and I do but if I start to say and act on that then hope will pop its cheerful little head above the parapets and we all know where that will lead.
But this afternoon I did. Do some editing that is. And I remember that I do like my story and I do find it entertaining and surely there must be an agent out there who's looking for something just like this. At this very moment she's glancing through yet another manuscript with the old boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds girl and all is well theme in one context or another and she's desperate to find the next Harry Potter (mine's not about boy wizards or even girl wizards) or Fifty Shades of Grey (the most erotic bit in my novel is ... well, you'll have to read it to find out).
All I have to do is find her.