As many of you will know, one of my aims in life is to have a book published in hard copy by the time I'm 50 so I can walk around Waterstones in Bolton, waving it under people's noses, giggling maniacally.
Well, as things stand, it sadly doesn't look like 'The Book That THEY...' is going to be the vehicle that will carry me to that nirvana of dream-fulfilment, more's the pity.
Sales appear, in the last couple of months, to have stalled. Despite my efforts, it has failed to capture the interest of the many influential book reviewers on the interweb. And, in spite of the fact that I've had nothing but positive comments and reviews from all those who have read it, it hasn't grabbed the attention of any publisher or literary agent that just happened to be panning in the river-bed of e-books, searching for a golden nugget or two.
As such, it seems like I am going to have to accept that 'The Book That THEY...', as good as it may be, is destined only to ever exist in electronic form, and that I'm going to have to satisfy myself with knowing that, for a week, I was rated number 13 in the Sci-Fi list on Amazon (in Spain, admittedly).
Oh well, c'est la vie, as they say.
But am I downhearted?
Of course not, for I'm already halfway through my awesome new novel (that's 50,000 words of deliciousness, my friends) and getting a real buzz from creating the backstory, developing the setting, bringing life to the characters and twisting and twirling the plot.
And that, I guess, is the thing I need to remember.
It's okay to set myself a goal, but I mustn't let that goal become the be all and end all. Striving for something has got to be at least as enjoyable and fulfilling, if not more so, as the eventual achievement of it. If it's not, and the aim is never actually fulfilled (which realism suggests is a possibility for anyone looking to get a book published), then the journey will not have been a pleasure. It will have been a chore. And why would I ever want to spend my free time doing something that's a chore?