Writing: The Author Sisyphus Complex

I’m not published. I’ve sent in a few manuscripts, but my own high standards and a few rejections… I know I’m a coward not to “plow through” and “keep sending it out.” I write what I love to write. As much as a piece of me yearns and burns to see my book sitting on Barnes & Nobles shelves (or better yet, see a waiting list of people ordering it!)…

I read this post of Ask Polly and almost started crying. I’m not a successful freelancer. I don’t have spines with my name on the shelf. But I understand exactly what she’s saying. The fear that somehow not achieving “better” than what I have in my life makes me a failure. What happens if my book isn’t successful? How will I handle bad reviews? How do I become Shakespeare? Jane Austen? Charles Dickens? How do I build up a fan base -as an introvert- without being so freaking awesome I can lock myself in cabins but people will still read my books? How do I sell without being a salesperson? (Especially as a woman, but that’s a different post)

When I have those thoughts, I have to remind myself WHY I write:

I write because my fingers twitch when I have ideas. I write because I’ll wake up in the middle of the night with a character who is whispered their story to me. I write because I want to explore a world. A magic system. A character. A concept. I write for therapy. I write for escape. I write for MY entertainment. I write because I love. I write for me.

The thought still whispers, “it will never be enough” and I have to start rolling that rock back up confidence hill again.


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