A good level of morale is essential, I find, for writing. It’s like petrol in an engine. It fuels the hope, if not belief, that what I write will be read by more people than just my husband (he has to) and a few friends (depending on their good will). When morale drops, I sink into a “what’s the point?” attitude. Then I have to re-fuel with memories of previous successes.
A car we’d bought secondhand in Stuttgart in 1962 had no fuel gauge. When the tank was empty, you could flick a switch on the floor of the car to get petrol to flow from a reserve tank. That would, if you were lucky, get you to the next garage.
In my writing life, I’ve frequently had recourse to my reserve supply of morale. This morning I’m hovering near that floorboard switch. Will our second book on Greece ever see light of day? Will I get a positive reply from one of the many agents and publishers I’m approaching? Fifty years after my career began, I am back where I started – without an agent.
If I link this post to LinkedIn, will it be read by a literary agent? There must be one or two out there who would like to be involved with “Life in Greece in the 1960s”.
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