Today, I feel even more pensive than usual. To date, I’ve received four critiques of my novel from fellow writers (that is, not family and friends). Their assessments, while positive in tone and greatly appreciated by me, indicate that I have a long journey ahead – too long for me to see clearly at the moment.
On days like this – when I wonder if it wouldn’t be better for me to be a park ranger than a novelist – I think about the one person who has stood by me throughout this insane process, the one person who’s believed in my writing abilities (even when I don’t). As Strange Fiction expressed more than a week ago, I’d like to dedicate today’s post to the “long-suffering soul” who’s experienced more than his fair share of my “day-to-day craziness.”
That’s right, Danny – I mean, you, my boy. It doesn’t matter that being a published novelist has been my dream since I was a little girl – long before I knew you even existed. You’re the one who’s kept me on the path, kept my hopes alive, and supported me every step of the way – and I’m blessed to have you in my life and on my side. Who else would have brought me a dozen roses yesterday – for no reason at all?
2 hours ago