Hm.

Had a submission today, which I’m translating as a prod from the universe.

The author is only two months older than me, and only lives three streets away. I could in theory knock on her door and get a cup of tea.

However, the submission alone is definitely not right for us. Writing, idea, execution, all were – and are unfortunately – substandard.

It took me back to when I was approaching at 16. I got an awful lot of rejections from across the board, including some damn harsh ones. To be fair, the work was crap in most ways. But there was one I got from Gollancz: just a standard rejection card, but on it, scribbled in pencil from the editor, Simon Spanton: “Keep at it – you have real talent.”

It couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds, but both the act and the words have shaped how I not only write, but also act now I’m the one going through the slush pile. There is crap here – some days resplendently so – but with almost all of them, I can see myself at 16, sure I would have my book on the shelves by 18, and yet somehow knowing – some days with a calm acceptance, others with floods of tears – that I wouldn’t.

It’s saying a lot about my life, my job, and the people who are in it – and the people that they replaced – that, finally, I’m starting to believe what’s on that card.