I have not had the best couple of weeks. My daughter was sick, I have been struggling with hip pain and life doesn't stop for any of it. The laundry still piled up. The kids still needed to be fed and the house to be cleaned. Not to mention my job. I have not written for the last two months.
I've been waiting to hear from my agent, who has been reading revisions of my manuscript. In the meantime, I have been researching my next book.
I received an email during a busy day last week that she the ms has much improved and she will have notes soon. She wants to try to make a go of it this fall. Everything else evaporated at least for a few moments. It is much improved. Those words echoed in the caverns of my mind.
It will all be okay. Isn't it funny how much my self worth is tied into my writing? Each manuscript contains pieces ripped from my soul and carefully sewn together thrown onto the reader for mercy. While I have come to appreciate criticism, at times I find myself doubting whether I have anything worthwhile at all.