As a writer, by nature I am:
In constant need of attention and approval; basically, I need my ego stroked. At all times.
… and that’s just the short list.
So, given all those wonderful qualities that I possess when it comes to putting on the “writing” hat and becoming Writer Steven, it’s often hard to remain a bright and shiny beacon of positivity. Especially during the querying process.
I’ve grown to accept the fact that positivity is fleeting in this whole dirty process. I mean, everyone tells me “no news is good news,” but what about the bad news? No news is good news, but when the news comes, it’s never good. So is any news ever good?
All it takes is one, right?
I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for that needle in the haystack.
It’s hard to remain positive when people you don’t know are rejecting your work — the work that you’ve spent years painstakingly creating.
Sometimes it’s difficult to keep moving forward.
And then something happens.
Something extraordinarily ordinary that will restore my faith in the power of possibility and the idea that anything can happen, if I just allow it to happen…
A smile from a passerby, the sunlight peeking through rain-soaked trees, a kiss from the only person that truly matters, a trip to Barnes & Noble and having that loved one sit with you in front of the YA bookshelves while you silently weep and then watching him pick up random books and say “this one sucks. How did it get published?”
It’s a small act of kindness, a glimmer of hope, the gift of love, a laugh. Small steps toward building up a fortress of positivity, a necessity in the publishing business; if you let it defeat you, you were never meant to win.
Rejection happens. It’s a part of the process, as death is a part of life.
I must believe in myself, in my craft, in the power of my words; it’s about never giving up.
Positivity grows as dandelions do, spreading like weeds. It’s infectious nature is charming and alluring and adds color to a colorless landscape. But like everything else, it changes; it withers and discolors and shrivels up until there is nothing worth looking at. And when you think it’ll never get better, bursts of white bloom from the head, giving new life to something almost forgotten.
There is beauty in the pain.
There is room for silent reflection amidst all the noise.
Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I forget to breathe. Sometimes I forget that, for a second, all I have to do is close my eyes and soak everything in.
There is brilliance all around us, if we would only open our eyes we could see it.
Open up and look, before it vanishes…