Two story rejections on one Sunday blew the fuses but by today normal addiction to my failed efforts had returned in the form of one word that shouted out to be revised. The memory for what you’ve written always works under the surface despite not seeing the story for months. Once you know it’s failed, you go through it almost unconsciously trying to come to terms with the rejection.
This editor kept my story for a hundred days and apologised while heaping on the misery of rejecting it. Why send a personal rejection having held up the progress of a story for several valuable months? Another editor who had the bad luck to be working on Sunday and not watching golf or boosting Primark’s quarterly, seemed almost speechless about my story, as though he’d never seen anything quite like it. All he could say was that it didn’t match the title. Personal responses are always a waste of time. You didn’t like it. End of story.
By the way, the word was “water”.
I just heard oily chin Cameron appearing to resume his attack on the Have Nots. Too late. He’s upset the Haves. What he wants to do is ensure nobody is “living off the hard work of others.” That’ll be people who live off their daddy’s money and unearned income from shares and property. Er, that’s the entire Tory party. Egad! The man’s a lefty!
