I've started my next novel, also in the women's fiction genre. I know, you may say, as I do, that I haven't sold anything yet, so why I am still writing? Because I know that not everyone sells their first novel, even those who have best sellers out. And one thing I know is that writers keep writing. So that's what I'm doing.
I remember when I was in high school we took a weekend trip up to Napa Valley north of us. One of the things we did was to visit Wolf House, which was Jack London's home. It was burned in a huge fire, and the ruins are still there, as is his original home which has been preserved as a state park. He is buried on the property as well.
The thing I remember most is the two display cases. In one it is full, and I mean FULL of rejection letters. Most are just postcards with terse comments saying he wasn't a good writer and they weren't interested in anything he had to send them. In the case next to it were copies of
Call of the Wild printed in every language in the world. Justification to the Nth degree!
I content myself with thoughts that I am doing what I must do and that is write. Some like my books, some don't. It's a subjective business. I love to write, I love to tell stories, and until there is some reason not to, I'll continue.
In the meantime, my new book has been started, and three chapters into it I'm having fun.