I'm late with this because I've had all the aches and pains of a cold bug without the sneezing over the last few days, received two rejections within a week of each other, and I've been out for a country walk with a very good friend today. Unfortunately she claims to have no skills at literary critiquism, otherwise I think she would have found my ms in her lap! It is so easy to lose heart, and I must admit the thought crept into my mind last night ~why torture yourself like this? 
Bt then it's always like this when a rejection comes through, and especially this time because in one case I'd been asked to send in the full ms. We try to remain level-headed, but somewhere on the subconcious plane the mind is busily crafting away on how delightful it will be when that acceptance comes... and then of course comes the big crash. At least this time I heard, and they told me very nicely. So many times the response is just silence. Aching, unending silence. Is it any wonder aspiring authors are basket cases?
Never mind. I keep on doing it because I love doing it, and I'm trying to achieve success in a time and place that has never been harder because of the recession. I'll take few days off, and then I'll be back, working away in my sixteenth century world where Matho has got to Edinburgh and the English are poised to attack tomorrow....how can I resist getting him and Phemie together for a few hours?
