Yesterday was quite an important day for me, though it didn't quite feel like it at the time. I was busy, so the significance of the day slipped by unnoticed.
Yesterday marked a year since I started work on my novel.
I finished the first draft at Christmas, giving it to my mother as her present with a dedication to her in the front. If it ever gets published, it will have that same dedication in the front. I am still working on the second draft, struggling to fit in my writing around everything else I need and want to do; struggling to find the energy and the inspiration to write.
I desperately want to get this published, but am slowly coming to realise tat this is highly unlikely while I'm still at University. I want to be a professional writer, but I also want to get my degree. I wouldn't have the time to meet any promotional demands a publisher would make should I be lucky enough to get a publishing deal.
Therefore, I believe I have come to a decision. I am going to finish this novel, then put it to one side. I will wait until I have left university before I attempt to get my book published. In the meantime I plan to work on the other ideas in my head. I have at least one sequel to the one I'm currently writing in the pipeline and at least one other idea I would like to try.
What I really want is to get back to the joy of writing; to be able to just let my imagination tun wild without worrying about whether it will sell or if people will like it. For now I think I will write for me. I'll worry about all that other stuff later
