"The interest withers" "blablabla (...) Although the withering interest in reading. "
Well now, looks like Mr. Gable, I was set.
After the letters from eight publishers which I received a denial without explanation that could help guide the approach to my subject, style, tone or I do not know what my news Finally a letter from a publisher who does not mince words.
Although I am esclaffée instantly to the tone somewhat enough, I was still upset afterwards, thinking. I still have three years working on this manuscript, it had invested a large piece of myself. My ego, what do you have convinced me that was a sense of the story!
No problem. In fact, it's a good, nay, a good thing that this set of refusal.
My thinking has matured, the events of my life made me take a distance from these writings, allowed me to reconnect to the grief of the loss of my son (which I've never been able to do for four years and months) rather than to lend to characters.
I read, too. These readings which give rise to deep pile of sprouts and lots of possibilities and that you stand in the face the fact that deep down you know nothing, that many things are beyond you or that sentence, this passage This reflection, you could write it.
I still have to invest many hours. I hope to have more doubts the next time I will ship tons of paper through the mail but this is utopian: the doubt has always been part of my life and live without me unthinkable.
I have at heart the right word, the correct angle, the verb that evokes and especially, 'that interest does not wilts in reading. "
