Melding Bits and Pieces to Make a Whole

Vicious circles of frustration

I sit with two finished novels, another in the oven, twenty children's books (three illustrated already), and one juvenile book. So far they are all sitting with me, gathering layers of dust and my frustration.

Most publishers won't look at a manuscript except through an agent or one from an established author. Agents won't consider representing an author unless the writer is already published and established.

Meanwhile, my manuscripts grow older, and so do I. They become discouraged, and so do I. Their words start to shrivel and fade as does my brain.
The folder of rejections humiliates my works, taunting me with my failures.

I search for a hole in which to hide, one with piles of dirt to pull in after me. Why do I continue to strive for nothingness?

Okay, enough of this pity-party. Waxing poetic is fine, but this drivel must stop. Look, there's another literary agency, says they'll look at material from first time, new authors. Hmmm, I'm a first time, new author...

Viv, tired of disconnections

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