I’m up early and I ought to be doing my work. I have writing group tonight and so I am supposed to be reading the pieces. But I can’t. I can’t focus, which for me is unusual. I am so focused. I have been so focused for so long.
You see, all this hard work – all the split shifts when I get up at 5 to work so that my husband can leave for work at 7:30, all the working through naptime and while the kids clamor for my attention – it is all to attain a “platform.” A platform is what an author needs to sell a book. So, I’m selling articles that take me 20 hours to write for $100 because they are in high profile publications. And I’m busting my ass looking for subjects and ignoring the garden and not reading blogs all because my agent has been telling me for two years that the only way she can sell the book is if I establish a platform. Which is what I am doing.
But this morning I cannot concentrate. Because this morning she replied to my email – the one with the list of publications I have scraped and struggled and gotten into. And she’s letting me go.
After all the work we did together on the book, she has to let me go. It’s just too hard for an independent agent to sell a book right now unless the author has been published in Vanity Fair.
So, later today I will interview experts for the article I’m writing and I will attend writing group and I will take Benjamin to get his sticker chart reward.
But right now, I just can’t focus.
Edited two hours later to add:
I’m not sure why I am taking this so hard. Usually, setbacks just make me work harder. I’ve worked so hard and wanted so badly to be an author. I’ve tried to take things in stride, to remember it’s a tough market, to believe in myself. Today, I am trying to decide where the line is between optimist, determined artist, and just plain fool. And whether I crossed that line long ago.