Writing is hard. It’s frustrating and it’s isolating. There are
no guarantees that your manuscript will get published, and even if you do
publish, there are no guarantees that people will buy your book.
Then there are the reviews. In order to sell your book and
get visibility as an author, you need readers to review what you’ve written.
But reviews are subjective and after pouring your heart and soul into
something, when someone hates what you’ve written, it stings.
Pushing past all of those obstacles is tough. Trying not to
let it get you down is even more difficult. Add in regular life and it can seem
almost impossible to persevere.
I was just about ready to give up. Seriously. It’s been so
long since I’ve felt good about anything having to do with my writing that I
wanted to just stop.
And then over the past couple of months, I’ve gotten
breadcrumbs of good news. An editor might be interested in one of my
manuscripts. Another editor might be interested in a different manuscript, one
which I thought was dead in the water.
And I finaled in a contest. Now, to clarify, I DID NOT WIN.
Someone else did. Yay for them! But I was a finalist. And they didn’t let
everyone be a finalist because I entered three books and only one of them finaled
(that actually makes me feel better). So it’s something. Not a lot, because
there are lots of contests. But in this one, I did well.
Those breadcrumbs are enough for me to keep going, for me to
convince myself to persevere just a little longer. It put a smile on my face
for a day.
So I’m not giving up. I’m meeting my self-set daily word
counts. I’m finishing manuscripts and I’m giving them to my critique partners
to tear apart so I can put them back together better, stronger and sellable. I’m
hoping the publicity from the contest—because apparently it comes with
publicity—will get more people to read and review my books. And every time self-doubt
creeps in, I’m reminding myself that I can do this.
It’s the little things.