I was so caught up in this Intra-universe of my work life that realization of the undeniable fact "this is not what I'm supposed to be doing" never crossed my consciousness. Deep down within my soul enlightenment existed, but on the surface sense of duty and devotion to the job cleverly muffled the whisperings of my heart. You can say the cliché the darkside led me astray from the light.
As I lay broken and mending, which I have to admit is boring work, my longing to pick back up my writing stirred my spirit shaking off the shackles of responsibility and the binding darkness that had encrusted my soul. It started with re-igniting my passion to get my first book of the Morian Trilogy, MoriaVaratu, an agent.
Reworking my query letter I sent it off to six agents. So far, two rejection, which was not all together unexpected. Before I was querying fifty agents at a time and the onslaught of standard rejections really got me down. I've been told all the stories of famous authors who endured this process time and time again, but I admit I was disheartened. But, this moment of reflection has afforded me a different objectiveness this time. All the hard work is done.
In hand I have a polished, well-written manuscript that I've gone back and strengthened making it better than before. What is most important though, I'm proud of it. And if it never sees the ionized lamp light of an agent's desk I still feel accomplished. There is in existence in the world physical copies made of glue, paper and ink adorned with dedicated ISBN numbers with my name on them. I can exclaim with pride that I have dedicated blood, sweat and tears (more tears than anything else) on this accomplishment. A small portion of my soul exists within these pages bared for the world to see.
