When I was 29 I decided to write a book. By the time I was 30 it was written. Not being one to do things by halves I wrote a synopsis and a covering letter and sent it out to 15 agents.
And I got 15 rejections.
Step one, I thought, and booked myself onto a seminar with top agent to the best of the chick-lit stars, Mr Jonny Geller.
I came home and I cut my MS up into chapters and completely messed with the timeline. I turned the whole third person narrative into first person with five different points of view. There was paper all over my flat, I slept amongst that MS for days, I nearly forgot to go to work.
And I wrote another synopsis, another covering letter and sent the whole lot to Jonny Geller.
I waited. And waited. And waited.
And then I got a letter back. A proper letter, not just the stock rejection. Signed by Jonny, in pen (not facsimile). He liked it, he was glad he was able to help so much with the second edit, lovely, lovely, nice words. But…. and there is always a but… it wasn’t the right time. Everyone wanted vampire fiction (that was a heads up to write a vampire story 7 years ago, but it’s just not my thing), thanks but no thanks.
After that letter I sat down and read the whole MS again. And I realised something. It didn’t matter if it didn’t get published because it was a story I needed to tell. Besides I had a letter from Jonny Geller. And in my world that is quite awesome.
I still have that letter. I still have the MS on my hard drive – 419 pages, 111,324 words. And in amongst those 419 pages is a storyline about cake and the Beatles that I need to reuse. Everything happens for a reason.
Why I am telling you all this today? Well this week my time came, sort of. My words came out in a real-life printed book. You remember I told you about the River of Stones book? Well looky, here it is!