See-saw, Margery Daw by Sandra Horn
See-saw, Margery Daw, Johnny shall have a new master; He shall have but a penny a day, Because he can’t work any faster. It will be no surprise to fellow writers that life can be a bit up-and-down. Since my last blog, mine has been absolutely Zebedee/tart’s knickers/ W.H.Y. You’d think that, at my age, and after all these years, the highs and lows would have flattened out somewhat. Not so. A piece of work accepted, a nice review, any small pat on the back, and I’m soaring with the skylarks. A non-response, a rejection, a fewer –than- 5- stars rating, and I’m in the murky depths. The Slough of Despond. The Pit. I am Finished as a Writer. Was I ever any good? Was it all just a fluke? As March turned towards April and the first botanical tulips brightened the kitchen windowsill, the bleurghh of that long grey winter started to lift and so did my spirits and energy – and optimism. I went into submissions overdrive: poems, a monologue , short plays. Noth...