Evidence that even rejected writing can find another home
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDvzQdWao8AaGVigsTIeXOgne7G3N9wGzEj83IUUG2a7hdOdgj7d6y9Vg7MUt7jPORorJ99DSY6p_y1SwjAD8BkupOkP9xx2IhEIzsmapw1wBz2T7cIHdlbbLWGCJ1H8UXFcqbk7uOlRS/s1600/rejection+slips.jpg)
I like this passage from near the beginning of a book I was writing a year ago. It's a shame the main premise of the book got a big NO WAY from a potential publisher. I enjoyed writing the two middle-aged characters, even if the story was flawed. The narrator has a friend, Beatrice, who stays with her overnight and is found murdered in her bed the next morning. Look, here’s a quick snapshot from the previous evening, a few hours before Beatrice died, just so you don’t judge me. Here’s me in action, apron-clad, frying mince and onions and pouring Beatrice, who seemed in need of cheering up, a generous glass of red wine. Here’s me saying, ‘So, how’s life at the B & B?’ and ‘I’m so glad you didn’t have any guests and could get away for a couple of days’ and giving her a second portion of blackberry and apple crumble. Here’s me nattering to her about this and that, mainly this dead friend and that divorced one. Strange, isn’t it, how getting past a certain age makes yo