About 'Delve'

A ritual born out of love, a seventeen year veil of secrecy finally lifted between two worlds.

As Rowan Shaw approaches her seventeenth birthday, she learns that the one person she should trust above all others has lied to her. Again. And then a chain of events catapults her into a world that she never knew existed, one where evil lives and breathes amongst humanity. And without consciously willing it, she begins to delve into their souls.

As she’s forced to come to terms with her new powers and as they continue to evolve, Rowan’s life becomes entangled with those whose souls she’s touched. And whilst trying to protect her identity, she also finds herself having to protect those she loves.

I've been subbing this out to agents since July 2011, and have come to a number of conclusions. The whole process from writing the first draft of a novel to the second, third, and fourth draft, subbing it out, and waiting for responses is painfully slow. And the non-stock responses at times seem very random.

I think in reality what happens is that the success of a submission depends on:

1. Quality of the submission.
2. Agent's preference
3. Agent's mood
4. A big dollop of luck

Anyone got any good luck rituals out there that I could use? No rabbit's feet though please.  I couldn't look at my bunnies in the same way again, seeing the fear in their eyes, imagining their silent cries of 'murderer'.  Pots of leprechaun gold are most welcome though. 

The Calling

I have found myself stumbling through life for the most part as I imagine most people do. I believe experiences make you who you are, but if I strip all of that back to my childhood, I think deep down I am the same little girl who sent off a story to Ladybird Publishing about evil goblins that lurked in her garden.

It's the stuff in between, the experiences that steer you down a different path, each twist and turn taking you further away from who you really want to be that get in the way. And now here I am. For the most part, I have a wonderful husband who, as the years roll on and life takes over, I unwittingly forget to appreciate. And then there's our three beautiful children who I thought we'd never have, and who give me so much love and laughter, they sing to my soul. I've worked hard in my life and have a good job, one that I enjoy, but the calling is strong.

For the last year or so, I've heeded that call, written a novel. And I've been looking for representation without much success. I get the standard rejections, but in amongst them, I find a note of encouragement - a few words scrawled on a compliment slip to give me hope. I'll keep trying because that's who I am. I don't give up. I take constructive criticism on the chin, and rework my wip, whipping it into better shape.

Why do I do it? The little girl within me still lives, but her imagination has matured somewhat or so I like to think. Past all of the joy, grief and disappointment, I still find myself concocting characters in my head, real or imagined, light or dark. My subconscious creates full conversations and scenes in my mind, fuelled by silence or music or the somewhat long monotonous drive to work. It could just be, of course, that I'm slightly crazy imagining other people and other worlds, that it stemmed from childhood as a way to escape reality, but I'd like to think that it's more than that. I will continue to listen to the calling, to act out the fantasies playing in my mind onto paper, until I find an agent or publisher willing to listen to the madness.

Wish me luck.