Many years ago I decided that one day I'd write a book. Of course, I never realised it would be published, albeit by myself, but I knew I would write that book that we are all supposed to have within us. Last November I finished my second book, then closed the file and have never opened it. When people bought my debut novel it was a huge achievement for me and the hunger for success became very real. I reached out my hand and grabbed the edge of the very big pond in which I found myself, but I've never been able to let go and swim away from the bank. It's been five months now since I closed that file and I haven't been motivated once to open it again. Occasionally, I've looked up at the book shelf where I have the printed manuscript in a large red box, but it's starting to gather dust and I have no intention of finding a duster. I got my last rejection this week after re-submitting Discovery at Rosehill. Thought I'd try just once more but it wasn't to be. I know we shouldn't look at rejection as a failure but it's made me realise, and make the difficult decision, that writing another book just isn't going to happen. Not for a long time anyway.
My life on the farm is becoming more important to me these days and the fact that I've earned very little from book sales has taught me where my priorities lie. My mum once said to me that I was just playing with writing a book - this hurt me at the time and I felt insulted. I told her that it would become my livelihood; that I wanted nothing more than to be an author. But I was kidding myself. What I've always wanted to be is a farmer and I've been given that occupation on a silver plate. There may come a time when I'll be running this farm on my own, obviously with a little outside help, and if that time comes, I don't want to be playing at being an author - I want to be doing what's been in my heart since I was little. I've given much up over the years, including an ex-husband whom I loved deeply and I'm not prepared to give my true livelihood up just to make a few sales on a book and have enough money to buy Amy a DVD. Putting bread on the table and clothes in the wardrobes is what's important now; and making sure my family can always rely on me to be there.
I guess the blog will be my only means of creative writing for a while now and so I hope you will excuse me if I occasionally publish one of my descriptive pieces about the paranormal activity that often occurs in the house. I might stick a few extracts of my second (unedited) novel on here, too, just for blogging sake. I started this blog five years ago in order to become known in writing circles, and now I find myself having lived the dream of having a published book out there and wanting my farming life back again. Everything happens for a reason. I think I'm beginning to understand what that reason is.