When I was in high school, a chin up was the absolutely worst form of exercise ever devised. Now that I’m a trifle older, I’ve found some other exercises that may qualify for the worst!
I haven’t much time, so I must moan quickly.
The process of getting your book published is fantastically painful. It’s like sitting on a desert island and watching the tips of masts of shiploads of food pass beyond the horizon, day after day after day after day after day.
You’re a writer. You know how it goes. You put your heart and soul into a project, and it comes out great.
But then you gotta sell it.
You move from that hopeful writer to a bedraggled salesperson, which is ironic, because, if you were a good salesperson, you probably wouldn’t be a writer. I would imagine there are some writers who are trying to escape the world of sales by writing a book. Quel tragique!
I’ve had queries out for almost two months now, so it’s time for the rejections to come flooding in…
Wait, wait, wait. Why get on an airplane if you don’t expect to fly? Fun though it must be to sit in the airliner seat and simply wait, the point would be to go somewhere, right?
So, enough of this desert island talk.
Chin up, mate!
You didn’t sign onto the Titanic for a pleasure cruise, did you?
If getting published was easy, why, everybody’d be a writer and then where would you be, eh?
So get out there and pitch your darned book!
What are you, made of dirt?
Thanks. I somehow feel better…