This morning as I was waking up, in that moment between dreams and full wakefulness, I realised why Taliesin Jones is no longer married and why he lives with his mum. Yes! Thank you unconscious writer brain.
I couldn't write down the notes immediately because I needed breakfast and tea. But before I could do that, I had to deal with the kitchen bin, which was very smelly -- though not full. And as I was taking the rubbish sack out to put it in the wooden compost bin we use as an enclosure for rubbish awaiting collection, I came a across the corpse of a thrush on the concrete by the back door. Not sure how it died, but I suspect number 3's cat. But that explained all the bird racket mixed in with the normal dawn chorus. Bird corpse had to be wrapped in newspaper and interred in the rubbish sack. No time for mini-funerals.
And then while I was eating breakfast, the postman knocked. When I opened the door I felt the heart-sinking feeling one always experiences when being handed the returned MS of a submission. Which of course you know immediately is a returned MS because the envelope is large and addressed in one's own handwriting.
But actually it was a better sort of rejection. Scribbled on the standard rejection postcard was a comment. To whit:
I enjoyed your writing but X does not have a Fantasy list so this is not quite right for us.
Which is both encouraging and intriguing. I had done my homework and I considered some of the novels X publishes to be comic fantasy. They obviously classify them either as mainstream or just humour. Oh, well...
No time to send it out again today, but will do so over the weekend.