Put on your cloak of patience. You’ll be glad of it.
JC is my mate this week. Having come out of the doom and gloom of the Bunker relatively unscathed my want and need to have a crack at the literary world is so great that it wears me down and fills me with self doubt and longing. What if my words are no good; what if they are words that no one wants to hear. These are the doubts and fears that plague the greatest of writers and even more so if you are yet to receive any recognition. The long, long days waiting, wondering hoping that a glimmer or speck of hope lies on the horizon and that an agent or publisher or competition will throw out a lifeline and the potential to be rescued. It is a lonely life being a writer. Lonely I can deal with. Try being a single parent and staring at the four walls when your children are in school or when they are tucked up safe in bed with the only adult voices you’ll hear for company on the radio or TV. Lonely is fine; I have had a lifetime preparing for loneliness but hardship is something else. All I want is that glimmer, glimpse, glance of hope and then I will be ready to break free of my cocoon and live my final brief days as a glorious butterfly. I am waiting and I am ready.