The kids have been dispatched to school and the breakfast things shoved unceremoniously aside. I move to my desk, and consider my agenda.
Today I’m working on short stories. I have several in progress. One needs a final edit and I’m submitting it to a competition. Another needs a total review, if I have time.
My writing group is meeting next week. I also want to write 500 words on the subject of ‘A Family Meal’. These things are always harder than they sound. I don’t feel inspired. Yet I know that after a brainstorming session and a little simmering time, I’ll manage to write something and it may even be decent.
Tomorrow I’m back to the hard slog that is my novel. I wrote the first draft, put it aside for six months, reread, and decided there were holes everywhere. In the past few months I have revised the plot, added, rearranged and improved scenes, worked on the character arcs and plot points. I’m confident that it’s a good story. I’m about to embark on a major edit and am striving to finish sometime in February. The self-imposed deadline is supposed to keep me motivated.
Then I’ll begin to send it out to agents and editors and hope that it attracts some interest. It’s the third novel I’ve completed but the first I have confidence in. I’m embracing the slush pile, and the possibility of rejection. But I do believe that perseverance and patience will get me there this time.