So, my morning tea nowadays is a very nice Darjeeling First Flush I’ve bought, at some point, from Kofeiinikomppania in Oulu. It’s really nice, fresh and does not crave milk. I started reading Victor Hugo’s The Notre-Dame of Paris (which is the same as The Hunchback of Notre Dame). The edition I have is in Finnish and it has been printed in 1915. Someone has added an Ex libris on the name page which says the previous (or at least probably the first owner) got it in the summer of 1918.
I have always had a very warm relationship with Victor Hugo. Up until I read Les Miserables when I was 13, I did not really believe I was into thick and long classics. I had only ever read Montgomery, Alcott, Finnish YA novels and The Lord of the Rings. I revelled in Les Miserables. It’s just so beautiful. I read several of Victor Hugo’s novels and plays after that, made a presentation of him for class in school and named my second goldfish after Victor Hugo’s father (Leopold Sigismund – now that’s a perfect name for a goldfish). I read this book then as well, but a later, corrected translation that I borrowed from the library. I got this edition a few years later.
Yesterday, when I got the first rejection letter for my novel, it did two things for me. The first was to ground me, and the second one to motivate me.
In the evening I filled out a few job applications and tomorrow I have my first interview for a job. It’s nothing mind-blowing, but it’s more money. It’s a year-long contract with a steady salary and extra rewards for good work. That’s more than I got from my last job.
The motivation bit is a really good thing. I occasionally feel a bit anxious about whether or not I’m ever going to make it. And it’s sometimes hard to start writing. I experienced that feeling today. But I had to only glance at the letter, to feel a surge of energy and start writing again. It sort of clears my head.
And I’m really glad. I did not know how it would affect me, having never done this before. I feared that when someone rejected my novel, I’d crumble in a heap and hide and think I will never ever get anything published. But really, if anything, the opposite has happened. I know I am a writer. I know my text is good enough to be published. It’s just going to take some time to find the right fit of a publisher. And until then, I’m going to write.