Yesterday I was rereading Nick Hornby's A Long Way Down, and I came across this bit. Jess, a disturbed suicidal teenager, has had an uncomprehending look at a novel by Virginia Woolf, and reckons that she killed herself because she couldn't make herself understood. She goes on:And she had some bad luck, too, if you think about it, because in the olden days anyone could get a book published because there wasn't so much competition. So you could march into a publishers' office and go, you know, I want this published, and they'd go, Oh, OK then. Whereas now they'd go, No, dear, go away, no one will understand you. Try pilates or salsa dancing instead.
I'm submitting Catch a Falling Star to agents right now. Maybe I should take up salsa dancing instead.
Do both. I've never actually done it myself but all the people I've heard talk about salsa dancing seem to like it and at least one of them was a writer. The other possibility is to start another book, but don't see these things as either / or.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your comment the other day, I've started blogging, probably not much good but it makes a change now and then.
Good blog, Rod - I've linked to it for now (but I do change the blogs I link to regularly).
ReplyDeleteI've always fancied Scottish or country dancing myself.
Same here, of course, Lexi.
ReplyDeleteI am convinced the dancing in Jane Austen's day was the most fun; you could meet people, converse, and flirt, all while moving to music.
ReplyDeleteToday's random leaping about to deafening music has little to recommend it.