Writing can be a lonely and frustrating profession. A lot of the time, I feel like no one is listening to what I say. That no one is reading what I write. That what I'm saying has little impact on the world around me.
This is true with my manuscripts that I keep revising and writing and working on. It's true with some of the articles I've written for the online magazine that I edit. It's even true of the book that I've succeeded in having published.
Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's trying to play catch-up with the real world after being away for a week. Maybe it's my kids telling me that I'm always on the computer wasting time, and not doing "important stuff" with them.
So why do I sit here at my desk, typing away?
Today I guess I'm not sure why I do what I do.
In general, I feel like creating new characters and other worlds somehow completes me, makes me feel like I'm doing something positive and lasting, as opposed to making another peanut butter sandwich for the son who won't stop growing, a sandwich that will disappear in less time than it takes to make.
I received another rejection while I was away, from an agent who had requested a partial from me. He told me the book was not to his taste, and that he thought it was too violent for the age group. Now I am faced with a dilemma: Is it easier to tone down the violence and stick with the upper middle grade range, or ramp up the ages and other aspects to appeal to a more mature YA audience? Should I be worrying about easier?
Something to ponder on this rainy day...