No, not that f-word, the other f-word.
Its been on my mind a lot lately. Admittedly I've been going through a bit of a crisis this week with my publishing attempts. To be honest I'm floundering a little. I'm not an idiot, I knew it would be long, arduous process. But I honestly did not think I would have had this much of a negative response to deal with. I've sent out sixty queries in total, and haven't received a single positive response. Well, that's not entirely true, I did have one agent ask me to send them ten pages. This week I heard back that she wasn't interested. I didn't think I would feel like calling it quits this early in the game. I didn't think I would let these almost-daily rejections get to me the way the do. But it is what it is.
I'm not saying I'm giving up, yet. But I'm quickly coming to terms with the fact that publishing may not happen for me. At least not in the way I wanted it. And it's okay, I guess. I'm so tired of having my own view of success wrapped up in the opinions of literary agents. True, only my closest friends and family have read my novel, and I know I'm not the next big thing. But surely I'm good enough? Or not.
Apparently not. I don't want to give up, but it gets a little old hearing how you can't cut it almost every single day. Am I doing everything I can? I don't know. There's probably a lot more I can be doing, but at what cost? Everything I do now is always secondary to my family, which is the way it should be. And should I really keep perusing this whole publishing thing when it's given me nothing but unhappiness so far?
I'm happy when I'm writing. End of story. So I'm going to keep writing. I'll finish the trilogy I began, because I love the characters and the story line, even if it's not quite good enough to be published. I suppose if there is still interest I'll still e-publish. After that, who knows.
I'm not saying I'm done. I'm just saying I think I need a mental-health break. That's all.