I WAS driving home from Kendal to Ulverston last week, in my daughter’s car. Accustomed to a more powerful engine, I was frustrated at the lack of response when I put my foot to the floor to climb Lindale hill. It felt a little my professional life over the preceding weeks.

Just three weeks to go and I still had only two confirmed bookings for my weekend writing course at the Reading Room, the recently restocked books in Booths did not include my paperback, the Cumbria Life feature promoting the secod novel, had been bumped and an event I was to read at had been cancelled.

My brother, a freelance graphic novelist and illustrator, understands my pain. A life spent pitching ideas that are rejected, waiting for a stroke of luck or happenstance, is exhausting. Selling products is one thing, selling yourself and yours stories is far more personal and the rejection strikes much deeper.

“I’m tired of pushing water uphill,” I sobbed.

“So, stop pushing.”

I took his advice, closed the lap-top, went for a walk with a friend and caught up on some tv drama. For the rest of that week I got on with necessary admin, domestic tasks and allowed myself some time to read. I got a lot done and I was in a better mood. Walking over Hoad in the sunshine, I counted my blessings for this wonderful town where I have built a home.

And then bookings started to come in. People confirmed and the course sold out. Someone sent me a delightful review of the new book, I was offered another event and invited to be a studio guest for Radio Cumbria’s new arts programme. All was right with the world again.

I pass on my brother’s advice, if you have your foot to the floor and the car isn’t moving any faster, ease up on that pedal. Sit back. Enjoy the view.