I realised I hadn’t been keeping up with an online presence in anyway over Christmas. It just sort of happened. December tipped into January and in that break rather than producing anything new I did something that felt long overdue, which was to stop making and start consuming. Not just Christmas food, but books and films and live theatre, sitting and letting other people’s work carry me for a bit. It was restorative in a way I hadn’t realised I needed. It reminds me of why I wanted to write in the first place.

Now things are moving again. There was another agent rejection recently, a nice one as these things go. It was thoughtful, polite, full of that careful language about admiration, timing and fit.

It struck me how difficult these emails are to interpret when you’re inside the process. Some are very warm, supportive, full of phrases like “not quite the right time” or “not what I’m looking for at the moment”, which somehow feel hopeful and frustrating at the same time. Others are much flatter, a simple “not for me”, which are easier to file away but reside differently. I end up reading between the lines whether I want to or not, trying to work out what’s being said and what isn’t and how much weight to give any of it.
I wonder if I’ve missed the moment for The Black Book? Has the peak of psychological thrillers already arrived and departed?
I feel like I missed the boat before. I took years to write a YA novel Zuburbia, a delicious experience of post apocalyptic survival, for me at least. I had such a thrill of writing that manuscript, inhabiting the story gleefully. But the height of apocalypse YA had been and gone and it sits festering on my laptop now.

At the same time, something unexpectedly lovely has been happening with the anthology my short story appeared in. It’s been steadily climbing and occasionally wobbling around a bit on Amazon’s ranking categories and it’s currently reached the top ten in science fiction anthologies, which still feels slightly surreal to write down. I hope the other contributors are enjoying it just as much. There’s something spectacular and completely surreal about this anthology, and therefore my contribution, being sandwiched on one day between Stephen King and Isaac Asimov.

I don’t fully understand how the rankings work and I’m trying not to look at them too much, but it has been genuinely heartening to see people finding the book, reviewing it, and in one case mentioning my name in the reviews. My Mum sent me a text to tell me that one, it made my day!
That sense of work leaving your hands and meeting readers is strange and grounding all at once. And because it’s a charity anthology its going to a great and well deserved cause. SCOPE. I know its selling, because people are telling me.
I’m trying to stitch this all together without letting any single part define the bigger picture. Rejections that are kind but still say no. Small successes that feel real but not world changing. Long stretches of quiet in between. The day job which requires focus and attention and sometimes holding onto someone else’s concern and help them tease it apart until it feels safer. Clients and supervisees alike. It’s messy and non linear but part of the rollercoaster of life, work, creativity and art I suppose.

For now, new opportunities may have come knocking, the itch is back after a brief festive hiatus and I love it when it arrives, like adrenalin coursing through the blood. I’ve entered a first novel competition but there won’t be any news for months from that one. It’s time to apply myself back to manuscripts and agent submissions again.

Wishing you all a generous muse.