I had to out the awkward feelings I held. Emotional blockages are concrete hindrances to the progress of words. Well they are for me. But even a couple of Downward Dogs couldn’t shift this blockage, now glued to the heart with double-sided sticky tape not even a Blue Peter presenter could tear off. I feared the only way to circumnavigate the problem was to write. About this. About feeling childish, rejected over the tiniest of set backs. The agent’s response was very complimentary. I should be glowing from affirmation, dancing on sunshine. Sadly not. I had been declined, and that can’t be dressed up in any euphemism, not even a slice of cake (well maybe). And I’m so daft feeling sorry for myself, licking this self-made wound. It could have been much worse; a six worded reply, no feed back at all, the inbox empty, tumbleweed. A mountain has hardly crumbled here.