Wow, the last few weeks have been intense. Family stuff has taken over - I'm definitely missing having deadlines like last year. We've had two funerals and five birthdays in the last six weeks...despite which I have managed to do some work on my new novel.
But I've been feeling seriously discouraged. My latest competition offering, which I was very proud of, didn't even make the short list. I could taste the disappointment; I haven't been able to read the winning entry yet. How childish is that? I need to take rejection on the chin, but I've felt more like abandoning my dreams than ever before...yet I know I'm tired, spread thin, and such a lot has been going on in my life that this feeling of pointlessness isn't to be trusted. I know I'll bounce back sometime, and there's no point bouncing back in a year's time, having wasted twelve months. I need to keep working, keep writing, and remembering to suck the joy from the creation, regardless of outcome.
And today I received a cheque in the mail for a letter that's been accepted in a magazine...it's not the same, but it was a small encouragement, and it's nice to have some pocket money, too. (I'm just trying to ignore that little voice that whispers, Know your limits!)