Gwyneth’s career was about to take off. For maybe a decade she had spent hours a day honing her writing skills, polishing her poetry, proof-reading her novel and proof-reading again and again. And now! A publisher had accepted a collection of her poetry for publication.
It was so rare to get a collection of poetry accepted by a publisher. Volumes of poetry simply do not sell well these days. Every publisher and his mother avoided publishing poetry anthologies like the plague. So to get it accepted was exciting!
Things don’t come automatically however. Things have to be revised and rewritten. Gwyneth was assigned an editor. She was determined to humbly follow every suggestion made; perhaps a change of word, perhaps a different title for this poem or that. The process lasted for two years. It was a tiresome task. Somehow Gwyneth made it through. And then at last! at last! the day arrived! She held her book of poetry in her hands.
Over the next three years two copies sold. The publishing company has now folded.
Gwyneth had to go back to working in the call centre to pay her rent but in her spare time she continues to post her poetry on her moderately popular blog. It doesn’t make her any money but she gets a fair few ‘likes’ and never has to worry about quality control.
LikeLiked by 4 people
And her “About Me” page says she’s a published author.
LikeLiked by 3 people
I think you’re right James. At least you read my blog – along with my mother (or she would if she were still alive).
LikeLiked by 1 person
Publishing is quite the racket, I hear.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I prefer to be “an award-winning author” to being “a published author”.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well, you certainly are an award-winning blogger.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can never get enough awards for blogging!
LikeLiked by 1 person
So true
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
The plus side is that her poetry collection is now classified as a rare book.
LikeLike
She is possibly not aVERSE to that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Clever.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s so unfair. In the good old days, poets used to bury their poems deep into closets or even under gigantic wardrobes and yet the poems would start singing of their own accord, at times like a nightingale.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I guess I’m out of touch (by a million years) but I couldn’t name a single global poet alive today. Poets – yes; modern trend-setters, no! In fact (in English) probably the last to create a stamp of some sort were Eliot and Auden.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh dear, my future nightmare…..
LikeLiked by 1 person
I suspect the “nightmare” is often the reality.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This tragicomedy portrays the life of so many artists (me included). Oh well, at least Gwyneth got a volume published.
LikeLiked by 1 person
99.9% of us are in a the same club.
LikeLiked by 1 person