storyrainthejournal: (Default)
Some people's paths to lauded bookhood appear, from the vantage of the internet and sometimes even from a real world vantage, to be relatively short, blessed, and easy in comparison to your own many many years long journey through unwelcoming and rocky territory. That is still ongoing.

Those same people often seem to have a great deal of family support and love bouying them up. Some people, indeed, just seem unfairly blessed.

But that's life and fair, as a woman I used to know was wont to say to her children, is a sunny day.

Of course, you don't know what those people have actually been through, you never know. And if they're people you think are swell, you're just happy for them, for the success of worthwhile things, for the love of art, of the book, of story, of people you're glad are in the world making awesome things.

But maybe, sometimes, you wonder, when the fuck is it my turn? Because for some of us, it seems every small success is beset by the orcs of difficulty. The path is thick with thorns and you never seem to reach those clearings where people, even ones you don't know, celebrate the thing you made, are gladdened and inspired by it, and say so, with confetti and chamagne.

You get tired. You feel discouraged.

You still love the writing itself, but sometimes you wonder, where did I go wrong? Is there any hope? Did I offend some great god of the book in a former life? Is someone hexing me? WTF world?

Of course, this is a useless place to be, and you don't want to be there. You want to be one of the happy, hard working, lucky ones. The in-crowd, the supported and wanted and loved. (What you have always longed to be, since the family of origin evaporated around you and you were, terminally, it seems, alone and unsupported, feeling unwanted.)

For long stretches of time you do well, you're positive, you know you, too, are blessed in many ways. You are thankful and sunny and productive.

Probably you will keep writing, even into your dotage. Because language and story are magic, and you love magic, love making magic, even if your magic remains forever small and quiet, receives no awards, and bubbles to itself in obscurity. Because it's yours, and there is joy in its making.

But sometimes, you wonder, and you are sad.

 

 
From:
Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
User
Account name:
Password:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
Subject:
HTML doesn't work in the subject.

Message:

 
Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.

Profile

storyrainthejournal: (Default)
storyrainthejournal

April 2019

S M T W T F S
 123456
789 10111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
282930    

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Apr. 19th, 2019 07:26 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios