I was thinking, the other day, that I don’t think I am destined to be a writer. Not sure what I am meant to be, but all pathways so far have led back to the sofa. I could have been a Biomedical Scientist, had illness not stopped me in my tracks. Then, I tried a Business Management and Organisation degree, but the Job Centre stopped that, saying that if I went to uni on a Saturday, I was making myself unavailable for work. Careers in admin, alternative therapy and counselling have all been halted by illness, so what career does that leave me, when I am well? I don’t know, but I feel sure that writing was a fluke.
I think that Karma’s publication was due to an odd bit of luck to make up for the misfortune I’ve had. I keep coming across negative comments that threaten to overshadow the good things that people have said. I read recently that my book was “flawed” but, when you come down to it, Karma was a book, written by someone who’s greatest relevant qualification is GCSE English Language. It didn’t benefit from the expertise of a highly experienced Editor, as most professionally published novels do, and certainly wasn’t well-promoted (I did my best, but my sales hardly compare with the 13,000 copies my counterpart sold of her debut novel). I still feel like I’m pretending to be something I’m not, and haven’t been able to shake the feeling that I’m a fraud. I didn’t hear anything from the agent I submitted Karma to, which (according to an article I read) means it’s unlikely I’ll get anything apart from a rejection letter.
Speaking of rejection, the shortlist for the book award Karma was submitted to was announced. Needless to say, I didn’t feature. I’m comforting myself with the fact that the short-list only contained books from well-known publishers…