Saturday, February 1, 2014


Throughout the development of this blog stream I've agonized and complained about my rejections, my miserable depression with every setback, the loneliness of being a writer, and my inability to achieve the level of success of my peers. While schadenfreude might have been entertaining, airing my agony on this blog stream has not relieved these feelings (well, a few pieces did, but not all.)  At times I've wondered if I was clinically depressed or simply have such low self-esteem about my writing ability that I am unable to take joy in my few successes.

Then I discovered an article that appeared in Slate about the friendship paradox and it became clear that I could blame my feelings of inadequacy on other writers. It's their fault that I feel so badly!

It is all in the way we (and here I mean "I") perceive others' efforts.  I am We are not usually privy to other writers' rejections, failed drafts, or abandoned stories.  Very few writers of my acquaintance openly publicize these things, much less talk about them. They no doubt think (as do I) that by resubmitting endlessly, keeping the unfinished drafts on their desktops, or holding onto fragments they keep hope alive that these will eventually reach completion and that some day, an kindly editor will tire of seeing the story reappearing in their slush pile and offer a few cents out of mercy* just to take it out of circulation. We (and here I mean "I") hope so.

Or maybe I should just get some new friends?

*If such editors exist, please let me know because I've got a boatload of stinkers to send them.


1 comment:

  1. Most of the writers in the world no one has heard of because they've never published at all. In the end, the only real reason to keep writing is because the alternative is unthinkable.


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