I began writing again today.  I have a story to tell and I have to get it on to the page.  I can't continue to worry about no one wanting my novel.  I can only keep sending it out and hoping someone will want it.  However, the more of this marketing I do the more I become convinced that one needs an agent to find an agent.

I think I got myself unblocked by writing something else.  For years now I have sent out a tacky Christmas letter with all the activities of my family.  People often told me how humorous it was, but for the past few years since the girls grew up it was tired and mundane.  This year because of all the changes in my life I wrote a new letter, one of hope and dreams for the future.

I think writing that letter in combination with reading Kris Radish's book and lunch with my friend Chassily, put the whole thing into prospective for me.  Chassily's stuggles with getting words on the page helped me realize again that it is not the selling of the story which is important but the telling of it.  I have told the story in my novel, I now need to tell this story from my life.  And when I finish this story, I will move on to the next.  I am a writer and writers write stories.