BT do it again!

My email sender started playing up before we went on holiday. I thought perhaps a little break was all it needed and it would be fine when we came back. It wasn't.

Two BT experts couldn't resolve it and, more crucially, neither could Husband. I don't know what BT did in the end but they fixed it after thinking about it for 48 hours. It's remarkable the joy I feel in being able to send emails again! So quickly we become dependent on all this modern technology!

Anyway in all the excitement of being able to send I've sent off another submission to a literary agent. And that actually is a huge benefit of the internet: not having to print out loads of pages, package them up, take them to the Post Office, and pay large sums of money for postage. It's much simpler to be rejected these days. 

"It's their loss", no, really it is

So, a few days ago, I received my first rejection email of 2016 - or as I prefer to call it my first 'it's their loss' email. (Only reaching that stage after sobbing quietly for a few hours.)

Yesterday I received a 'we'd like to see more' email, which, strangely enough made me feel worse than the first one. You see it was from a publisher. Again you'd think, 'Well, that's good, isn't it?' But I don't know; I am suspicious. And I became even more suspicious after I googled them.

On the original publishing website they did say that they may ask for a contribution towards publishing costs, which can be a sign of a vanity publisher but, on the other hand, is like going to a regular printer if you self-publish, but that unlike a vanity publisher they would only publish if they considered it of suitable quality.

The reviews I read however suggested that everything would be of suitable quality and that the financial contribution requested could be very high.

So, yes, my reaction was: the only people who consider my manuscript worthy of publication are scam artists. Hence my misery.

Anyway we're off to Surrey for the weekend so time with grandchildren will cheer me up. We're setting off this afternoon so I'll miss any more 'It's their loss' emails that arrive - I find Fridays to be a 'good' rejection receipt day. I am convinced agents come to the end of the week and just want to reduce their pile a bit so fire them off willy nilly. 

I hope my next post will be more cheerful: I'm not really as horrendously miserable and dreadful to be around as I may sound. At least I hope I'm not ...


P.S. Vanity publishers came into the news a few years ago because they were taking lots of money from people to publish their books. They played on people's vanity and desire to be published - much like self-publishing - but at a great cost - unlike self-publishing. I self-published This Time Next Year at no cost to myself, unless you count blood, sweat and tears.

With a little bit of this and a little bit of that

I've spent the afternoon submitting three novels to five agents. The rule about multiple submissions doesn't seem to apply any longer; I think they've realised if authors have to wait eight weeks between each submission they could grow old waiting for success. So I've sent novel 3 to three different agents.

Now it's all done by email it's quicker and less hassle although each agent seems to want something slightly different. One may ask for three chapters and a synopsis; another wants a detailed letter about the author; another wants a short synopsis; another a long; another your blood and tears. The only thing they seem to agree on is that the manuscript should be in Times Roman, size 12, and preferably double-spaced.

And before you even get to submitting you have to decide whether the agency is right for you. Some are altogether too highbrow. Others make it so complicated you give up before you start. But the other thing they have in common is that they all - without exception - stress how unlikely it is that you will be successful. Because out of the thousands of manuscripts they receive each week they only take on 2 new clients a year. Not necessarily because your novel isn't publishable but it's got to 'really grab the agent'. 

And that could depend on all sorts of things that have nothing to with your novel or writing ability. The agent may just have burned her tongue on a scalding hot coffee or had a row with her boss or found out that her rival has a prize-winning author on her hands. 

So submitting and sitting back to wait for rejections isn't really being pessimistic. Just realistic.

* * * * * * * * * *
A good number of years ago, in a different life, I was asked to write something for a Christmas concert. I duly wrote and practised my piece and turned up all ready and prepared. Halfway through the concert one of the organisers crept up to me and whispered, 'We're running late. Is it all right if we drop your piece?'

This last Christmas Sean left the planning of the carol service in Zac's to me. 'I trust you,' he said. 

People can say you're valued but sometimes their actions speak louder than their words.

* * * * * * * * * *
Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I reminded myself of that trite little phrase this morning. It may be trite and a cliché but it's true, as I reminded the men in prison when I spoke there the Sunday before last. I was encouraging them to search for hope and a new beginning.

A new year doesn't just start on January 1st. Which is just as well as I've been feeling pretty rotten for most of this month. Still suffering with the remains of the cough/cold that has been my bugbear for months I tell you, months - oh, okay, a few weeks - but more so with an inexplicably heavy black cloud that I've been unable to escape from.

It hasn't been consistent and I've had good times but underlying my pleasure has been the feeling that I'm just not good enough. For whatever I'm doing. Even when I'm doing something worthwhile I feel I should be doing something else. Or doing it faster or better.

I think I'm beginning to escape it now, hence the enthusiasm for submitting my novel, and even writing this blog post. 

Which is becoming a bit depressing so let's do something about that.

For Christmas I bought Husband these racing OAPs:

As you can see Grandad has an inbuilt advantage being motorised. Granny was further disabled by the loss of her foot on Boxing Day ...

Oh yes, and over the last week we've lost Husband's cardigan (or rather I've lost it he claims), his glasses (again my fault but it was me who found them behind the tomatoes), four tins of baked beans and a jar of tomato salsa. If you come across them, please return to owner.

And now I'm off to circuit training. I spend each Monday waiting for the phone to ring and for Jules, our trainer, to say he's broken his foot - drastic I know but a small price to pay for a night off.

But I've also ordered a Fitbit. More out of curiosity than anything else. I walk twice as far as I need to because I have a bad memory.