Last week was a bit fucking intense. Emotions bloody everywhere. On Chinese New Year (Tuesday 5th) I thought it the perfect opportunity to get my arse in gear and finally send off my book synopsis to potential agents and publishers. I was so nervous. Like, butterflies and everything. I almost couldn’t eat my lunch time Chow Mein (fear not, I managed). Almost immediately, I heard back from a potential agent, expressing interest and requesting further details. So, naturally, I lost my shit a little bit. I went straight into nervous pooing mode and poured myself onto the Raven Whatsapp group. This is my book. It’s my baby. It’s a collection of my thoughts and stories and incredibly intricate details of feelings seldom shared with anyone. It is remarkably personal and, perhaps in hindsight, that’s where I went wrong. Criticism would be a lot easier to take if it were critiquing make believe. But this is my life, and the truth about what has happened so far. Needless to say, the potential agent changed his mind and deemed my book, among other things, ‘not sexy enough’ for an erotic memoir. Whilst every fibre of my being wanted to call him and demand reasoning for his rejection – this is NOT an erotic memoir, it is NOT meant to be sexy; it’s just meant to be real – I abstained and, after a couple of sleepless nights and a bit of a cry in the bath, have vowed to stick at it and stay positive, furiously reminding myself that JK Rowling was turned down by 12 publishers before someone took a shining to the wizard we all know and love. So, in conclusion – my first book rejection? A real mother-loving kick in the vag.
Alas, nothing’s going to bring you back from that downer quite like your best pal getting engaged. She was proposed to on Thursday and, bear with my soppiness here, I actually did a little happy cry. Crying! Over something that wasn't upsetting! It's been so long!
There’s just something so heart-warming about seeing someone you love so much loving someone else and being loved in return. Ahhh, love. And it really helps when the ring is gorgeous. And I effing love weddings. I love inappropriately large hats and free champagne and how, regardless of whoever you’re there with, weddings tend to make everyone happy and on their very best form. So, if anyone needs me for the next couple of years, I’ll be frantically Pinterest-ing and loaning out my wedding planning scrap book.
Thankfully, this was all followed by a blissfully boozy weekend back home in Edinburgh, to watch Scotland play as per annual tradition with my dad and his wife. Ignoring the emotional turmoil, it was utterly delightful to do my favourite thing and drink prosecco surrounded by people I love in the place that makes me happiest. I’m sure I don’t need to mention that there was a whole lot of alcohol involved. Which, unsurprisingly, doesn't necessarily bode well for my clear emotional instability. My boys in blue lost to the Irish (I cried) and then I had to leave my favourite city again (and cried), so all in all; I cried a lot this weekend. And, by the time I had my last boo hoo on Monday afternoon to Grey’s Anatomy, my tears were probably pure gin anyway.
Happy (sort of) Tuesday, and try and remember that we all have these days, weeks and months. The ones where you cry all the time and often for no reason and the only thing that makes you feel better is baked cheese. And that’s OK. We’re all in this together and, trust me, if I can get over my multitude of whinging and weeping over the tiniest thing, you can too. Oh, and I’m only a DM away, so feel free to slide in.