Why I should be published

I am not a celebrity. I am not famous. I am not infamous. But, I am a writer and my writing has merit. This alone should qualify me to read by agents and publishers.

So, why don't they?

I write from my heart. I attempt different styles in order to appeal to a wide audience. I write what I would like to read, being unable to find it on the bookshop shelves.

I research carefully and plan out each novel in advance. I don't restrict myself to my plan, but let inspiration take me where it will. I draft and redraft carefully so that my work is the best.

And still, the agents and publishers won't even bother to read me.

My work is excellent. I will not stop my search for an agent/publisher. Somewhere, out there, there is someone who will recognise the quality of my writing and take a risk on me. I'm worth it! My writing is different. My writing is eminently sellable.

Choose me!

a river of stones - 11

coldness creeps around

skin and settles in my bones

cruel, prolonged winter

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 10

white exhalation

drifts and disappears in the

coolness of morning

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 9

thin circular ice

floats on cold water, denies

the robin his bath

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 9

perpetual grey

canopy of cloud rain falls

intermittently

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 8

black trees on the hill-

top, letting morning light through

their thin, bare branches

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 7

silent star shines in

blue-black sky, cloud creeps slowly

extinguishing light

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 6

silver halo in

the sky as sun pierces cloud

refracted light glows

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 5

reaching upwards towards pale

white sunlight and grey

clouds – motionless, bare branches

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 4

darkness absolute
no definition until
I turn to the house

 © Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 3

black silhouette against pale
grey sky, owl swoops and
vanishes, wings spread, fierce cry

© Freya Pickard

a river of stones - 2

distorted images, blurred
wavering outlines
seep and run on rain-washed panes

© Freya Pickard 2011

a river of stones - 1

darkness suddenly
lifts revealing silhouette
of tree under sky

© Freya Pickard 2011

Where do ideas come from?

This is something that has intrigued me for a while now. I don't think ideas are necessarily the same as inspiration. Sometimes, ideas just appear out of nowhere, when I'm not even thinking about writing things. 

I think that there are common ideas that float around at certain times and different people interpret them in various ways. For instance, in 2009 I was working on a thriller and in 2010, when I listened to a certain album by a rock band, I discovered they'd incorporated similar fears into their lyrics. Both of us had interpreted the same idea in an individual way. 

So, where do ideas originate? Is there such a thing as the Muse anymore?

The more I've pondered this, the more I've realised that trying to find out where ideas come from actually stifles creativity. The closer I get to finding out who or what generates ideas in the universe, the less creative I become. 

Thus I have decided to just let the ideas come to me. I won't try to discover how they reach me. I want to keep the creative spirit that's been set inside me!