I ran into an ex-teacher of mine a few days ago; he's enjoying great success in genre-crossing-into-literary fiction, and I don't mind his writing. he was polite and interested (used to be greatly feared by his students), but I came away with an odd feeling; like something was passing me by.

all I can do is keep writing and sending and writing and sending and having faith.

not that success is all it's cracked up to be: despite being the chosen author for a new imprint in the UK, said ex-teacher mentioned the new publisher had invited him for a weekend in the Cotswolds. if he paid his own air fare from Australia.

or there's always lulu.com