There is no happy ending.
My friend's mom, whom I respect completely, hated my novel. It made her uncomfortable.
Characters I created, that I spent the last year working on, pouring my soul into made her want to puke.
There is no happy ending. I put my lead character- Protagonist- through hell. I put my Antagonist through hell. The same hell actually. And one character I was told is redundant. The character of Cole, who is based on my buddy Joshua, my friend's mom and my editor by the by, feel that the story is being blocked by having him in there.
I can't seem to win.
Okay here is the deal. I'm not as creative as I wish I was. I need a guy in my life to feed the creativity. I need to be in a relationship, or at the very least crushing on someone. This blog over the past year proof of that. I mean, man really the most interesting posts on this frealing thing have nothing to do with me and everything to do with either the bad dates I had over the summer or my addiction to Mr. Shelley and Mr. Sabin.
So what do I do now? I'm trudging through the re-writing of draft 3 and my heart is no longer in it. I have been working towards this point for the last 15 years.
15 years! Since the first time I had some of my poems published in high school. Yes, I am that old. Most writers have cranked out four or five full length novels by this age and not still struggling to get noticed.
I got asked today ironically "what would Jane do?"
What Would Jane Do? Well, I think Jane Austen would have laughed. She would have laughed and then dug up a pile of potatoes. Cause by this age, she had 4 of her novels published and had already turned down one offer of marriage. See, massively ahead of me in a time when women couldn't own anything.
What did I do? I drank 3 glasses of wine and cried.