Yesterday, it was exactly three years since I signed the contract. Honestly, I wish I could focus on something else. But even the sequel I spent the last two years working on has to wait in line - as my contract says - and so now I'm not sure what direction to move in.
With my mom doing so badly in the hospital, all I can really focus on is these books about her childhood. Plus, I'm still totally fascinated with those places and those years. Still, maybe I should try to get into into some contemporary fiction. I've a couple in my drawer that could use a fresh edit.
Maybe if I'd finally get an ARC I'd be feeling more optimistic. (Although, having to cut the last three chapters doesn't make me feel too thrilled about finally seeing that ARC). Sigh.
How come getting a book published is so painful?
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