Listen, I'm in a mood. I just need to get it out of my system. I'm not fishing for compliments or encouragement. I just need to gripe.
Not, of course, in love. That's not a thing I particularly care about at present.
But rejection in my professional life.
You see, I had applied and desperately wanted a position that would help me pivot in my career. I don't want to be in an office, pushing papers for someone else until I die. That's not where I want my life to be. This position would have offered the opportunity to break away from that the stretch out into another profession that suited me better. One that would put me on a path that was much closer to my dream life than the one I'm currently on. I got the news on the weekend that I was passed over for that position.
I mean, it's to be expected. I imagine competition was fierce. And to be honest, I'm used to not getting things I want. It still smarts, though. Every damned time.
The blow was easier knowing I do have a full-time job, which I'm infinitely grateful for, even if it's not what I dream of doing. At least I have the means to keep a roof over my head and food on my table.
Not content with one rejection, though, last night deal another blow to my dreams. Another rejection, this time from a publisher. While I love working with Renaissance Press, I also feel that I want to stretch. I want to reach a broader audience. It doesn't help that I'm clearly not selling.
I've been chasing representation for a while now, without success.
And it's weighing on me. It's feeling pretty heavy and rather spiky, and I can feel myself getting bitter. I feel like I'm going to end up that angry old woman screaming at people walking past about how having dreams will destroy them. You'll all just end up heartbroken. Give up now. Spare yourselves.
Which is, of course, terrible advice. Certainly hypocritical. And perhaps not true. It's terrible advice because the pursuit of the dream is really the only thing that gets me out of bed sometimes. Chasing dreams is better than languishing in self-loathing. Even if you don't make it, at least you can say that you tried. It's hypocritical because, in spite of everything, I can't seem to give up. I want to continue writing. I will continue to pursue it as a career. Perhaps one day, I'll actually have something to show for it, even though right now I feel like I don't or won't. Ever. And, you know, perhaps it's not true. Sure, I might not ever make it, but that doesn't mean someone else will also fail.
I always supposed my lack of success is my fault. Clearly my writing isn't that good, or folks would be talking about it. I know for a fact that I have no idea how to market my own stuff, so there's one definitive place to lay the blame. Maybe I'll just always be a mediocre writer, languishing in obscurity, and will die broke and bitter.
Don't worry about me. This mood will probably pass.
And I'm not going to give up in any case.
Even if it is just spite at this point.
Right, I have things to be getting on with. I hope you're all keeping well.