Something I wrote was rejected today. It was a nice letter though. And you know, we may have rats, but the rat wasn't in the Smeg, simply under the floorboards. Our house is being rewired, which means there is a thin layer of dust over every available surface, but hey, the house is safe. I think I put on weight too. But I just watched one of those plastic surgery programmes about obesity and that always makes you feel better. And I can still fit into my new Karen Millen dress which I'll be wearing for my niece's wedding on Saturday. So life is good, if you're a glass half full kind of person.
I keep thinking about Naomi Wolf's new book, 'The Treehouse' slagged off in a recent Times review, but hell, why shouldn't Naomi go soft? Those who like it full, read this Interview instead.
I like the chapter called 'Your only wage will be Joy'. Her father published twenty books. She writes:
'Some have done well; others were ignored. Critics liked some and detested others. Sometimes it was hard for him to find a publisher. His method is to focus on the creation, ignore the reception, and get on to the next page. He has no regrets and he keeps working. "My novel, "The Glass Mountain" took thirty years to find a publisher. Did it get better in the interim? Of course not. My sense was that it was always important, and I kept sending it out." '
It reminds me of something the novelist Liz Jensen said to me recently when we met for lunch. She reminded me that as a writer one must not look at the fate of a single book, but at a writing career. A writing life.
In my first novel, "The Temple of Hymen", the heroine's headpiece became infected with maggots. People tell me they have nightmares about that scene. But you know, I think they rather like nightmares. Makes life a bit more interesting. Clearly the rats are here to tell me something. Life was just a little too clean and perfect before we moved. Will I be a better coach for rats and rejection? Possibly. A better writer? Hell yes.
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