For a while now I’ve been wondering whether to jettison my last post – the one where I was stark raving mad about not getting a contract with a certain publisher* after a year and a half of dutifully drafting and redrafting and sending off to a certain editor*. But I’m going to leave my post where it is, along with the one before that, because that’s how I felt at the time. I was looking for companions in that particular form of rejection-madness and couldn’t find any. All I got was variations on “if at first you don’t succeed” and lists of all the writers who received so many rejection letters they could paper the walls. All of which could F off. I was disappointed.
Anyway, I’m writing a novel with a first-person narrator that happens to be a female pink and grey galah who has insightful observations about Australian identity and history. Through these observations and digressions we get the story of Mrs Johnson, who has an affair with the local dogger and her daughter, Stella, who thinks she’s the daughter of an astronaut but is actually the daughter of the dogger. And of Kevin Kelly, who is writing a love letter to right wing politician Pauline Hanson. What’s not to love about that? Anyway, in the end that certain publisher didn’t like it but I will go onwards, onwards, flying into the gum-scented morning, looking for another one.
PS Today’s Word of the Day on Artwiculate is jettison.
* Would like to name them but will not, because burning bridges is generally not a great idea.