I was scrounging through a list of publishers, trying to find any that seemed right for what I'm writing. I wish I knew if anything I've written is worth the effort. I wish I knew whether or not I'm just wasting my time. But then I'm reminded by what Dennis said to me,"Write for your own pleasure." I realize it does keep my mind busy.
what I need to do is (maybe?) quit taking it all so seriously. If I'm not having any fun with it, then, well, I'm only hurting myself more than anything. I really don't see myself publishing anything any time soon. Even this latest short story--who's gonna want it? I realize now that I can't write for a publication. I do write for myself. Maybe that's no so bad. It's just that I won't be successful. But how does one measure success? How much money one makes, or how happy one is with themselves? I can't keep beating myself over the head about any of this. I have too much to worry about as it is.
And as far as that's concerned, writing is my one and only escape. When I go into my room to write I'm in my own little world where no one can enter--except to interrupt me--but it's all mine. All mine! I'm probably never going to be published--not in the way I've dreamt of it. Maybe all the hype and glitz ain't worth it anyway. I don't know. I've never been very out-going, I'm shy, introverted and basically I don't enjoy being around people. People find ways of hurting you whether they mean to or not.
So, what am I saying? I'm as unsure of my writing talents now as I was twenty years ago. Maybe I've improved quite a lot since, but it's not making much difference.
author's note: Hard to believe but this was written about 11 years ago. How time flies.
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