Sometimes when you return from your travels, you are disappointed to find that nothing major has happened in your absence. This is not the case. After three blissful weeks of no internet I came home to discover the following:
- I wasn’t shortlisted for the Frank O’Connor Award. It went straight from long-list to winner
- I had an OK review for my collection. Not bad enough to make me darken my windows, but it wasn’t sparkling either. Good and bad bits, which is fair. I’m saying ‘fair’ as a mature, professional person. The six year old within is wondering why they don’t love me
- I was rejected by an agent I had hopes for. The letter was waiting by the door. In a fitting moment I ran over it with my suitcase. Inside, the usual stuff was said to avoid the slitting of wrists: think you have talent, blah blah… unfortunately this is not for us, blah, blah. Cue six-year old.
I’m going to go sleep off my jet lag. Hopefully when I wake I won’t be to more bad news. Knowing me, I’d probably complain that nothing ever happens.