The final say came through yesterday. A year or so on from when I first sent it out to agents.
The final say was No.
She said it kindly – praised my writing and the changes made to the novel but ultimately she said no, which is kind of what counts at this point. I considered crying but thought better of it. This isn’t massively surprising news – it was always the more likely choice – and the thing I’m most upset about is that I don’t now have a reason to sit and write all day / fly to England whenever I please.
Sigh.
But, there is good news amidst the bad. The positivity about my writing has been a big boost and people genuinely seem to think that if I apply myself and keep going with this writing thing then one day it will happen. And the truth is I made it pretty far for a first novel - an agent willing to represent me and a publisher who was willing to read it more than once. This sounds like I'm boasting - I don't mean to - it's more an exercise in reminding myself why crying and moping is not necessary.
So.
So I need to start writing again, a whole new book, which is going to mean summoning self-discipline, which I don’t have in large quantities. And inspiration, which to be honest is easier to come by than self-discipline where I’m concerned, and it’s not easy to come by.
Project Hannah Personality Transplant is officially underway.
