Sometimes in our literary lives we need to regroup.
I’ve been doing this with my agent this past week and it has been a bit like unbuttoning a shirt too tight at the neck. Ipso facto - a relief.
We have pulled the submission of a manuscript while I press the pause button a moment to ensure that I am targeting the right genre and that I am truly playing to my strengths.
This kind of regrouping is perhaps inevitable for a writer like myself who loves to experiment as a means of growth. Make no mistake –experimenting is good. But it can take you a little
off track now and again and I fear this may have happened just lately in my case.
No matter. No problem. I have just had a couple of short stories published (this week and last) so I have rewarded myself by stepping away from the desk to enjoy a week of pottering.
I have been scouring antique shops and bric and brac stalls for inspiration. I have filled my house with yellow which for some reason never fails to help me focus. And I have bought a new teacup and some beautiful new hearts to hang in my kitchen.
For however often we may need to press pause and whatever agonies we endure as writers over genre and
strengths and highs and lows, one thing for me is always crystal clear. If I am not writing from
the heart about the things in life that move me and truly matter to me then I am not doing my job.
I’ve been doing this with my agent this past week and it has been a bit like unbuttoning a shirt too tight at the neck. Ipso facto - a relief.
We have pulled the submission of a manuscript while I press the pause button a moment to ensure that I am targeting the right genre and that I am truly playing to my strengths.
This kind of regrouping is perhaps inevitable for a writer like myself who loves to experiment as a means of growth. Make no mistake –experimenting is good. But it can take you a little
off track now and again and I fear this may have happened just lately in my case.
No matter. No problem. I have just had a couple of short stories published (this week and last) so I have rewarded myself by stepping away from the desk to enjoy a week of pottering.
I have been scouring antique shops and bric and brac stalls for inspiration. I have filled my house with yellow which for some reason never fails to help me focus. And I have bought a new teacup and some beautiful new hearts to hang in my kitchen.
For however often we may need to press pause and whatever agonies we endure as writers over genre and
strengths and highs and lows, one thing for me is always crystal clear. If I am not writing from
the heart about the things in life that move me and truly matter to me then I am not doing my job.
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