I am probably going to be silent here for a while. I am terribly sad although thank God my sadness is not over any damage to anyone I love, and I am also, as far as I know, touch wood, and blow away the evil eye, healthy.
But after eight years of work, my novel hasn’t found a home yet. My agent and his team love it and are behind it a 100%. Still. And they will proceed with it again. However, I am, in the meantime, on a tight budget, having devoted those eight years to writing it and to my young kids.
I wonder if I was mistaken to be so faithful to this story and to revise and revise and revise. I wonder if I have lost my touch. I wonder if I should have just moved on. And while I’m wondering and my heart is heavy, I am still trying to make it just a little bit better.