I've been writing this novel for at least two years (I've lost track at this point). I've polished it and substituted words, and I frankly have reached the end of my tweaking patience.
So, tipsy tonight, I finally submitted it to my very first agent. I'm checking my email regularly for that swift rejection. At least I'll get the first one out of the way. My feelings won't be hurt; I've been down this path before.
I'm itching to get back to blogging about music. I haven't even written a tribute to Charley Pride and he deserves one. And I have a lot to say about music. I've just been otherwise engaged.
Blogging is where I feel most comfortable. No judgment, no dismissal.
So if you're one of my followers (and not a bot) stay tuned.
Novel writing is a losing game. But at least it consumed several months of my life.