Having sent synopsis out to be read by a kindly friend am now convinced it's seriously bad. My instincts are telling me that it's time to draw a line underneath the writing lark and dedicate my time to being a little bit more constructive, either helping others outside my immediate family or earning a proper income.
Did some voluntary work yesterday at a travel fair, much as I hate chuggers it wasn't far removed, selling stuff for charity, and though I am the world's worst salesperson it was still fun. The polar opposite of sitting at a computer all day every day not interacting with anybody face to face. Yes I'm the carer of a young person and a sick person so am not a total waste of space but the loneliness is getting to me. I won't stop writing. I have a couple of credit crunchy non-fiction ideas I want to test out on my agent; it's a remote possibility that the 2 editors who wanted me will come under new regimes, or their superiors (ie the salespeople) will suddenly wake up to the gap in the market I felt I was filling; I still do the newspaper column and have done a few articles for a new magazine in this last month. None of it adds up to making a proper living though. Ironically, hugely successful author next door is In Residence at the moment. I know She was once like me etc etc and it could all turn a little way in my favour, but, actually, statistically, it probably won't.
I also followed my own advice and Listened Again to Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday's Radio 4 Book of the Week I recommended last week and became increasingly irritated with it and was thinking gaah, and I've said how brilliant it is now.
Bye bye, thanks for visiting, come again soon.