Help! That sinking feeling as you send off your submission yet again. A mix of excitement and resignation, looking for a sign. The sheer amount of time all this takes you. The research into the preferences of agents, reading their lists to see if you can identify with any of their published writers, thinking ‘ I can write like that’ about one who you happen to have not only read but found disappointing, leaving you hanging at the final page. So unsatisfactory that it almost made you want to sit down and change it.
I have my own people urgently waiting to be born on new pages of my own. In the night I awake with the idea to rewrite the mss for Five Love Stories and a Song to India. All these I wrote between 1995 and the new millennium. I suddenly see them in book form although I know they all say short stories by new writers stand next to zero chance of being accepted. Maybe my inspiration came from one I read of that had been. Stories linked together somehow, the same character living each in a separate time I think. My characters are not linked and all distinctly different. What they have in common is the fulfillment of dreams. They are like two birds flying out of a storm.