Trying to be a Writer

Hmmm, it appears from my previous post that I was not having a good day that day.

See, I'm being all coy, like I only vaguely remember posting that link, but I totally remember doing it and totally remember why.  I won't go into detail.  Writing makes me want to impale myself on sharp objects Writing is hard.  Trying to be a BON-EE FIDE writer is emotionally draining.  Here's what it's like:

First, you write the book.  Yeah, cuz that's totally no biggy.  Slapping out an 80K word story that sorta makes sense.  EASY PEASY.  Then, there's querying.  Huge time suck.  Then there's waiting, waiting, waiting, and then, one day...BOOM!  REQUESTS!!! Which make you go like this...

...more querying, more waiting, NA's ("no responses" to queries), waiting, waiting, waiting, more NA's, often to the aforementioned requests.  Yes, they request to read your book and then you NEVER HEAR BACK EVER EVEN WHEN YOU NUDGE.  So, then you're all like this...

And then there's other stuff.  When you write, you are ALL OUT THERE.  Like, naked with all your bits hanging free.  Whether it be sending stuff out for critiques or actually sending the finished product to agents, at some point, people tell you what they think.  And some people have no problem telling you that you have no talent, that your writing is flawed from head to toe.  In fact, I know someone that is so utterly convinced of my suckiness, they say the darndest things to me, like my suckiness is mutually agreed upon, so saying/implying such is no big whoop. Which kinda makes me go...

So, yeah, that, and then the other stuff, and you're just, ugh, it's like this only worse:

And then, inevitably, like a nervous tick, you feel the need to write another book.  Because the first one two three four were such fulfilling experiences.  Plus, you're under some demented delusion that you're SUPPOSED to be a writer.  But then you get a few chapters in and you're all...

 

Because you realize you TOTALLY agree with that person who is so utterly convinced of your suckiness, and you kind of want to call them and say "I KNOW YOU ARE SO RIGHT I KNOW IT TO BE TRUE!" That's when you realize you're like one of those sad sacks from the American Idol auditions, who they profile first, and you hear how they're convinced they were born to sing, and that singing is in their soul, in their blood, and they've got DREAMS and PLANS and stuff, and then they sing, and everyone is all...

But you still write it.  Because there is something seriously wrong with you.  

Basically, in a nutshell, THIS is what it's like trying to be a writer: