Frustration, I wear it like a suit, but the jacket fits too tightly, and there’s lead inside my boots…

Those of a certain age and MOD persuasion will recognise the quoted lyrics from the Purple Hearts – cries of teen angst still relevant in my middle-aged years.

The message remains unchanged, if not the source.

The journey into published authorship [is that a real word?] has been a long and troublesome one that has still to find fruition.

I’ve made innumerable errors with submissions, offered up works that were far from suitable.  Tales that needed more than just a bit of spit and polish to shine up a few dull patches.

Delusion hasn’t been the illusion, but I have been naïve.

Optimistic by outlook, pessimistic by result – something like that.

I genuinely believe that Amy Grace: Thomas Payne is a good tale – that it is worthy of time invested to read it, yet it sits as a secret known only to a precious few.

It’s not supposed to be like that, it just isn’t.

Applying to Agents is hard – it is.  I’m not complaining, I’m just stating a fact.

The emotional investment in selection, applying and then waiting and waiting for the eventual reward of a silent rejection takes its toll on even the most hardened of folk. 

This isn’t a pity party – we don’t go there.

But we do acknowledge the drain of it all.

It’s not a victory to have applied – it’s not.

Triumph doesn’t sit with the ignored applications – it’s just not there.

Dogged perseverance does.

So too does faith.

But frustration sits above them all!

Once upon a time…

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” ― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

It’s probably the faux pas of all possible faux pas to start a blog with the opening lines from a book you didn’t write. 

But I do so to illustrate a point.

Something something never judge a book by its cover, and the same should be said for opening line, or indeed opening guitar riff.

Mister Dickins [IMHO] absolutely smashes out of the ballpark the ‘give me a good opening’ question. 

His is indeed superb, and if not too controversial, that is where for me his book ends. 

I didn’t like his tale of two cities, wasn’t for me – but flip what an opening!

So, point being circumvented…

Books/covers, great songs opening guitar riffs, good stories, and opening lines.

To all art there is depth, and this is what we should be seeking – we search for a tale in which we can bathe, a narrative that surprises and shocks, that pulls us in directions not anticipated by not following the preconceived narrative we created from either glossy cover or opening phrases.

On the edge of each horizon are hinted promises, tantalisingly hinted at, held just out of reach – if only we keep on reading…

Think of all those books that took you on magical adventures, made you a King a thief or a possibly a lost lover… 

If you were to judge and condemn on page one, line one would you honestly have moved to the second line, the next page…?

So, my badly made point, perceiver, wait for the second reel, somethings are just worth the wait – they just are!

Stay safe- keep sane!