As a new year tumbles into view, I am midway through writing my fourth novel. 2016 was a productive year, with the third novel written and edited.
To add some disappointment to my life, I queried 60 literary agents with my first novel. That was two months ago, and I've heard the familiar word 'no' from 20 of them.
Such is the life of an author. We labour long and hard to create an entertaining story, then wonder how to make readers aware of its existence. This needs marketing skills if self-publishing, or the expertise of a literary agent when chasing a traditional publishing deal.
Either way much is down to luck. As composer Hector Berlioz observed:
The luck of having talent is not enough; one must also have a talent for luck.
Luck is elusive, but sometimes things go our way.
May it happen to you in 2017.
Sometimes
by Sheenagh Pugh
Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.
A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.
Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.
To add some disappointment to my life, I queried 60 literary agents with my first novel. That was two months ago, and I've heard the familiar word 'no' from 20 of them.
Such is the life of an author. We labour long and hard to create an entertaining story, then wonder how to make readers aware of its existence. This needs marketing skills if self-publishing, or the expertise of a literary agent when chasing a traditional publishing deal.
Either way much is down to luck. As composer Hector Berlioz observed:
The luck of having talent is not enough; one must also have a talent for luck.
Luck is elusive, but sometimes things go our way.
May it happen to you in 2017.
Sometimes
by Sheenagh Pugh
Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.
A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.
Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.
