On the day that John Steinbeck started work on 'East of Eden' in 1951 he went to his local pencil supplier to decide on the pencils he would use. He settled on a 2 3/8 Mongol because it was so black and it held it's point well. He ordered 6 dozen of them for his pencil tray and called it a day. On the second day he recorded that his work was a 'bust.' He suffered 'as always from the fear of putting down the first line.'

I am considering starting another novel. I haven't written anything new in several months as I go through the long process of seeking a home for 'Charlie No Face.' I have submitted to over 30 agents and small publishers so far. Many more to come. It is a slow process identifying small publishing houses (my focus now), reviewing their mission to see if it matches my work, checking the submission guidelines and then submitting whatever they are willing to see. Sometimes it's only a query and a brief synopsis. Sometimes more. Every time I push the 'send' button I feel hopeful, even though, so far, my hopefulness has gone unrewarded.

To combat discouragement and to remind myself that I can write, I will begin work on a story I started researching last summer. A story based on a tragedy in Great Britain in which a couple committed suicide after their young son's death from an illness.

I don't know when I will 'face the fear of putting down the first line,' but at least I won't be doing it with a pencil. Soon I will go back to my notes and let the ideas stir in my mind and when I least expect it, the first page or so will become obvious to me and I will start. Whenever that time comes, I probably won't know where I am heading exactly, but I will be certain that the journey has begun again. And shortly thereafter I will settle into the comfort of writing and the excitement of discovering what exactly I am thinking.