Yesterday I got a sudden, chilling fear that gripped my heart with its icy fingers and threatened to stop the beating. It was an odd, irrational kind of fear. The kind of fear that showed me a version of the future that I did not much like.
I saw that instead of these posts eventually leading up to publication, they became a permanent chronicle of failure. Day after day, month after month, year after miserable year of rejection letters, of shattered hopes and dreams and I saw myself, a failure, sitting quietly in a corner in the dark.
To think, this actually could be the outcome. Now, I'm not saying that I will fail. I will do everything in my power to not fail. However, the truth of the matter is, I may not be accepted by an agent or publisher. At all. Ever. That is entirely possible.
What happens then? Would I self-publish? Probably, but in all honesty, if an agent or acquisition editor did not find my work worthy of publication, it might be because it's absolute drivel and shouldn't be published. Who knows?
All I know is I did not want to become that failure I saw in a sudden vision. Yet, as an aspiring author, I must be prepared for such an eventuality. Not everyone can become the next Steven King or J.K. Rowling.
Even if we really, really want to.
Right, well, there is marking to be done, so I must fly. Have a wonderful Thursday everyone.