I call myself a writer even though I have yet to be published. Writing is what I do. My brain spits out page upon page of a tale without even really thinking about it. My hands can't keep up sometimes, flying over a page and cramping at the breakneck speed my mind demands. I weave tales full of emotion, drama, heartbreak and hardships, and of course, love. It all seemed fairly glamorous when I decided I was made to write. There would be book tours, bestsellers, and fans. There still may be, even though it may be a long shot.
Then, reality hits. For me, it popped up like a huge whitehead on my nose, unsightly and painful. It was about six months ago that I realized even if my stories were good stuff, which I still believe they are, it takes a lot more than talent to get to where every writer wants to be. Mostly it's manufactured luck.
Writing is an endless chore of polishing rough drafts, submitting to agents to be turned down, yet again, and polishing all over again. It just wears on you after awhile. I'm about burnt out. I need a shot in the arm of something good. Anyone offering?
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I may have what u need :) Keep your chin up hon! You are the best writer I know, I go to my computer daily to see what stroke of genious Allison has posted for the world to enjoy. I have always enjoyed your writing, and you WILL find the right person to believe in your ability, and publish your works of art. Miss you tons!
ReplyDeleteIt's like that, for real.
ReplyDeleteRight now I like the (completely legal) 3rd-world drug know as Kratom. I also take lots of (lawfully prescribed) pills. But if you can get by without resorting to drugs, that's probably best.
-(yr friend Dan, from Accentuate)
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