hough she really wanted to sleep in, trying to remain in a foul mood just seemed pointless after the wonderful evening they’d had the night before. She stood filling the coffee maker, not really paying attention to it, going through the motions like she did every other morning; mindlessly doing this morning task. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and she hadn’t even bothered to check the TV.
Writing in the indie world is an uphill climb. Many excellent writers, glorious storytellers with magical mysteries flowing onto pages, are never seen. Manuscripts being sent for review with high hopes, only to be responded to with rejection after rejection. Dashing hopes, and sometimes silencing dreams for good, these struggles plague many authors.