What it is here.
Typically, I would post something uplifting or encouraging, but this month I admit I'm struggling.
So, here is my insecurity, bared for all the world (okay not ALL the world by any means) to see. I'm sure there's an exhibitionist joke in there somewhere.
Insecurity for the month:
I've worked my butt off, researched, slaved, sacrificed family time, cried, been sleepless, and endured more highs and lows than a roller coaster. I've finally found the thing my very SOUL needs to do. And it might be for nothing.
I think I've just pinned so much on this dream, this thing that I NEED to do to LIVE, that I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not as successful as I'd hoped.
Now, here's the crux. Lots of times authors feel like they're just not good enough. It's a horrible feeling. I get that. This isn't that. I know the things I've created are viable. Now, I'm not saying they couldn't be improved, expanded, edited, etc... but seriously, they're GOOD. If I were to find my stuff on a bookshelf, written by someone else, I'd dash out of the store with my arms full of books cackling in glee, overjoyed that I'd found a perfect fit.
I've gotten lots of amazing feedback from friends (you know the honest kind who hopefully would tell me if it sucked) asking what else I've got, etc. My critique group participation has become limited because, frankly, there's not much I get back besides "this is awesome."
And yet. Though I've gotten some requests from awesome agents, they've so far ended in rejection. If the rejection was accompanied by some feedback, even so much as "this is stupid," I could fix whatever it is that's wrong. But it's always the same "just not quite for me." It's enough to make a girl drink. And eat lots of chocolate. I mean lots. I never knew there was such a thing as too much chocolate, but guess what? There is.
What I've lost most recently is my fire for editing. I know I've sent out my last manuscript too soon, but I'm just tired. I didn't have it in me to do several rounds of editing and soul-pouring on something that will never see the light of day. Overtime at work, three year old, clutching my dream in my pale white knuckled fingers... I'm tired.
Sorry for all the whining. I try not to do it... but I needed to indulge myself because this is getting ridiculous Any suggestions? Have you ever been burned out?
PS: Thanks for all the IWSG peeps who keep on encouraging each other, and to the writing community in general, who as a whole is one of the most awesome and supportive networks of potentially competing people that I've ever seen. Writers could teach the rest of the world a lot about compassion for your fellow man!
Best of luck everyone.