Time to move on

I am fed up, there is no denying it. For the past eighteen months I have been sending my latest book to literary agents, and getting the same reply – they like my writing, my characters, my dialogue, whatever, but my novel is not a winner in this current, impossibly difficult, publishing climate. Five years ago they could have sold my book to a publisher, but they could not today. In the words of one “the market is so very tough and publishers are taking as few risks as possible and are buying so little in the way of new voices, new writing. It is very demoralising.”
Many midlist authors have been “let go” by their publishers, so I don’t take it personally. I know I can write, even though I am not and never would be a best selling author. I write quiet books that people enjoy. The agent I heard from on Monday said this about my book -
I've read it and I love it. I think you're a wonderful writer and the novel is lovely - clever, funny, subtle, wry, sad and uplifting all at once.
…you write so thoughtfully and insightfully, and with such tenderness and humour…
And then there came the BUT.
I have decided that this is my final rejection. It has been such a demoralising process, that I have decided to give up with mainstream publishers and do it myself. At least – I am going to do it with with Dave’s help. We will publish But I told you last year that I loved you in the spring, and then you can read it and decide for yourself whether you like it better than all the celebrity crap that is clogging the bookshops in this run up to Christmas. 
In the meantime you can enter my Christmas Competition and cheer me up (no pressure there.) There are two days to go till the closing date.