I am a little disappointed, though I do understand that short story anthologies are stupidly hard to sell, even if you're an established name. Chances were slimmer than most for trying to get an agent for this work.
There's nothing to do but move on. I have one and half more books to write, and I can't slow down or they'll never get written. Oh, and seeing as how I'm speaking of The Great Man series, I have some cheerful news.
My mother has very helpfully agreed to be a Beta Reader for this series (and that's a lot of work). She sent back the manuscript a couple of weeks ago (and I still haven't had the chance to look at it) with a lovely note:
She loved it. She's desperately in love with Julian and fears for his soul.
That's the reaction I was hoping for! That makes me happy. So very, very happy.
Also, speaking of The Great Man series, I had best get on with writing it. Before then, here's today's Forgotten English:
To taste; as, "Pree my sneeshin," taste my snuff.
- John Jamieson's Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language, 1879.
To taste. The Scotch think this phrase, "I preed her mouth," a poetical way of saying, "I kissed her." Its literal translation into common English, "I tasted her mouth," doesn't sound like poetry, while its Cumbrian form, ""I teasit her feace," sounds like anything rather than poetry. The different versions of the phrase illustrate the difference of character on the two sides of the border.
- Alexander Gibson's Folk-Speech of Cumberland, 1880.