The spirits within

The past couple of days have been something of an emotional rollercoaster, to indulge in a cliche. Part of me has started to despair that I will ever have a novel published, such is the frustrating, insular nature of the industry. This despair tends to come and go with my general mood, but it hit me particularly viciously yesterday. There's nothing in this life I want more right now – the desire drives me, and yet I can't help wonder if it's all in vain, if I am going to retire or die without a single page of my novels being published.

A glimmer of hope stands on the other side of the scales. During a brief surf of the net yesterday, I found an imprint of Macmillan in the UK that specialises in publishing first-time authors (on pretty crappy contracts, from what I can gather, but hey – some royalties sure beats the shit out of no royalties). I think I have the writing chops to stand out from the average, especially in the larger UK market. It has spurred me on to get Ghost Kiss looking as good as it can look. If I can, I will devote this weekend and the Anzac Day holiday to finishing my fourth and final draft, then use subsequent evenings to make the changes.

The future looks fraught with possibility ... and the possibility of disappointment.