I've hit bottom with this writing life. Sure, things should be looking up, but they aren't. I realized this morning that all my favorite agent bloggers have rejected every manuscript I've ever sent to them. Why do I keep reading them? I can't even muster a heartfelt congrats when they announce a new client. I'm not jealous--maybe envious--but nothing mean spirited. It just reminds me that maybe I'm not as talented as I hoped, or that basically . . . I couldn't write a good story if my children's lives depended on it, which in a way, they do.
I'm sifting through career options this morning. Oh, I'll keep writing, and likely keep publishing. My obituary will read something like:
"Author dies of old age. Her 150 books will be rememberd fondly by the four people who bought them. Walmart is having an in-store sale on the day of her funeral to honor her fifty years of service. After the funeral, stop on by to pick up a new toaster--but unfortunately, they don't stock her novels."
Yep, that's about it. *sigh*
Happy Turkey Day everyone!
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