Mr. Write


Oh the frustration that accompanies the life of an unpublished author is measurable only with some kind of horrific torture. Holding down a job, whilst trying to write in your spare time, is just that, torture. In your eagerness to make progress, publishers and agents all over the globe are sent rushed manuscripts of drivel. No adequate time to edit, leads to any old rubbish in your sent tray. It’s only on re-reading the above said drivel, that you realise that it is such. Everyday becomes mundane, living in a kind of Groundhog Day, you wish away your working day, in order to get back to your keyboard. The tiredness and fatigue of a days work on your shoulders as you finally get to sit down, ‘just write something’, you say to yourself. Result? The above said drivel.

‘I only need a break’, You say to yourself. Please let some publisher or agent spot my work and allow me to write full time, the only way to truly write. Day after day, articles, short stories, drivel are sent out. Either no reply or ‘no thanks’ is sent back. There is no magic formula to this and if it was easy, everyone would be doing it. Is the ‘big break’ just around the corner? If you pack it all in, in frustration, are you throwing away any opportunity of doing what you are really meant to be doing?

Just like any relationship, the publisher and author have to find each other. There is a publisher out there for me, for who, I am Mr. Write. So come on, come out of the woodwork. I will be wallowing in pages and pages of self loathing drivel otherwise. You are my out, I am your in. Let us find each other before it is too late. Before I close my laptop for the last time and say, ‘it just wasn’t meant to be’.

Is it time to look at the self-publishing route? There’s a certain self-worship to that though, or is it just confidence in ones ability to produce good work? There’s no point in self-publishing drivel though, is there? Unless that happens to be the name of your novel. So, if I happen to find an old Arabian looking jug or lamp and rub it vigorously to uncover a genie, I know what I’ll be wishing for. Mr. Write is here and waiting and writing, drivel, some may say, but I know you won’t.

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