Share Some of That Sunshine

As a writer, whenever someone asks to read some of my work or I ask someone new to read it, I put a little of myself in their hands. And when they finish and have a hard time voicing their feelings, usually not meeting my eyes, and twitching and twisting their body, you know they didn't care for it.

I know what I write isn't everyone's cup of tea and that's okay. I understand very well how one person can love a book and another feel unmoved or even abhor it. But even understanding that, it still hurts.

YET, I still want people to read my work and be honest with me. How else am I to learn what works and what doesn't? So I smile and tell them I understand, patting their hand and hoping I've soothed their worries. I really do understand.

Then I tell myself I read books quite often (sad to say) that are boring and terribly wordy or have silly heroines or wimpy heroes. And I remind myself that an editor out there liked that book well enough to buy it and surely some editor will like mine. Then again, I may be delusional.

Of course, the other side is when I read a book that's superb and I've given up sleep to finish it, I become depressed and feel my writing is hopeless.

Continuing to be an unpublished writer is a hard. With the holidays looming nearby and well-meaning relatives asking me when my book will be published, I cringe inside. They have no idea I'm writing number ten. So I'll say once again, "Not yet. I'm still trying," and a little more of my soul dies. They always look at me with confusion and a little pity. I can imagine they think to themselves, "Poor thing should give up. Obviously, she's a terrible writer or she would've been published years ago."

Sorry to be such a downer. Except for wanting my two children so much, I don't think I've ever wanted anything so bad in my whole life. Maybe I'm a little spoiled in a way as in most things I've wanted bad enough, I've gotten. But so far, this one thing has stayed out of reach.

For the last four years, people have told me I'm on the cusp of being published, though I've written for many, many years before that. I have to say the last two I've agreed with them and I'm getting rather tired of waiting for an editor or agent to agreed with me and everyone else.

Will I quit? No. But I don't like how it has made me such a sourpuss. I want to be happy for other people's successes. Just because they've gotten what they wanted doesn't mean I won't. There isn't a limit of books that can be published in one year. I can be published too. But I have struggled with my attitude and I hate that. I like happy people and those who are first time published are the happiest anyone could be around. :-) I just want some of that happiness for me too. I'm certain there's plenty for everyone.

And you thought this blog was going to be about all the rain we're having in the Southeast U.S. Actually, I went through four titles. The others were so sad, I knew I would reget it later, so I settled for one a little more upbeat though demanding.

:-)