December 2020
New York City
Manhattan
Hm, what a fucking waste of time!
I walked 20 blocks in this 20 degree weather to get another round of 'not good enough' critiques. This damn mask was annoying, but it kept my face warm while I walked. This was only the 3rd time I had left my apartment in nearly a year. Their words haunted me, trying to push me down.
You're better off ditching the series and starting something new.
I wouldn't waste your time on a sequel.
What would you have to offer new to the story?
Fucking editors. They think they know it all, but I know my readers, and I especially know my life. That is what they were rejecting, my own fucking life. Yes, nothing quite as titillating as fucking a vampyre or a Greek god-like man—but for fuck's sake—I made a significant life for myself!
Why wouldn't it be good enough to write about my adventures as a writer?
