Casting a cold eye

Donned the hair shirt, and embarked on a big mind map to assess where I am with my writing, and work out a few next steps. This involved casting a cold eye on all my activities. And it wasn't a pretty sight. The children's novel has been completely ignored or rejected by over a dozen agents, so it may be unpublishable dross or my approach is all wrong. I need to find out. I have a single poem in the publishing pipeline (and today received confirmation that my collection had got nowhere in the poetry business competition) no plays, no music (the Centaur project seems to be at a halt), no stories accepted, no big ideas, and now no freelance.

To the gym, which helped a good deal. And walking through the park and literally smelling the roses. And an invitation from Antony to go to his book launch later in the month Bestiary, and Other Animals, which should be fun, and a note from Catherine to meet up soon.

Heard that Jade had not got the Oxford job she'd interviewed for.

A mysterious smell in the dungeon, that despite going about (crouched, as it is not high enough for me to stand in) with my nose out, no apparent source. Disconcerting.

Lorraine in need of a gin and tonic on returning from school. We ate and chatted, then watched another episode of The Handmaid's Tale. It is as grim as the first series, but I don't find it as rewarding.

Below roses in Preston Park.