Getting through the day ...

Hmm, it’s a bit like that today. I am lying low, battening down the hatches and attempting not to react in too emotional a fashion to any outside stimulus. Good job I’m at work then, I suppose! In an attempt to counteract the ongoing gentle slide, I’ve doubled my HRT dose and will have to see if that works. I certainly felt a little better last night as I was going to bed, but didn’t really stay awake long enough to see if the feeling continued. Ah well.

This morning, all is strangely blank once more. Plus I’m feeling hugely vulnerable, so much so that today’s inner statement is probably more along the lines of: Yes, you’re probably right – I am rubbish. Sorry, girls. Lord H thinks I was roughly the same last month, so it’s obviously hormonal. Still, knowing the source doesn’t make it any more pleasant, I must say.

I was already feeling rather vulnerable anyway, from my unfortunate attempt to chat to the neighbour’s son in a friendly fashion last night. Well, I won’t be bothering with that again, I thought he was really rather rude. But I was feeling way too weak to fight back, so I just walked off. The idjit probably didn’t notice though – too obtuse. Or maybe he just has the conversational skills of a toad.

And this morning, I’ve chatted to the lovely girls in Catering about sorting out this lunchtime’s meeting – which isn’t one of mine, but I was trying to be supportive anyway. At the end, one of the girls who’d actually bought Thorn in the Flesh some time ago jokingly said she’d managed to sell it on eBay and had got tuppence for it. At least I think she was joking but really, who’s to say. Naturally, I laughed and said something light-hearted as I like her but, to be honest, this sort of thing is hugely more of a knock-back than people imagine. Especially from those who are supposed to be on your side. I’m beginning to think that indeed the minuses vastly outweigh the plusses in this business. As a result, I’m rapidly losing any kind of confidence I once had, and now even if people say how much they enjoy my books, I don’t actually comprehend it. And, looking at it logically, can you blame me? After all, when push comes to shove:

(a) I don’t sell more than 100 books or so of anything, and a significant proportion of these are really no more than gifts to people who don’t want to buy them.

(b) My agent never contacts me, even with bad news – whereas an online friend whose latest novel was sent out at roughly the same time as mine is already meeting the first of two publishers next week. I doubt I’ll hear anything now about The Gifting – in the same way I heard nothing about the Thorn submissions until after a year when I simply had to assume the agent had been unsuccessful. It’s that terrible silence which defeats me.

(c) Until recently, I’ve tried to drum up interest in my work on the Writewords site but I've been less and less successful there – evidently I’m not important enough in what is now a very competitive commercially-focused writing environment. I suspect that I may not last there until my August renewal, to be honest. Hell, even when I add a comment to a thread, nobody now responds. So I’ve given up trying. (That said, a huge thank you to the handful of lovely people who do buy my books from there – I really appreciate that support, but I think you’re a rare breed now!)

And these are only the latest complaints. Sigh! So, why bother? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m increasingly reminded of a former church acquaintance who once told me that he used to love playing golf but had given it up as it had become more of a hindrance than a joy. Food for thought indeed. I do certainly feel that the book business has well and truly defeated me. However, I know I’m cursed by bloody-mindedness: I’ve started Hallsfoot’s Battle so I’m determined to finish one day. But maybe as there’s no-one out there keen to take it, I should just write it when I feel like it. Can’t see that one coming along quickly then!

Hey ho. And I’m still at work, worrying about a meeting at lunchtime when I have to say something intelligent about the Personal Tutors’ handbook, when really I’d much rather not. I’m just not interested. And tonight it’s the Goldenford meeting. When at the moment the feeling is much the same. So it’s a question of getting through the day and doing a heck of a lot of pretending along the way. Double sigh. Best break out that Emergency Chocolate again …

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers