It’s a bumpy road this path of a writer. I never imagined otherwise, I’m too much a realist to have harbored any wild expectations of success. Nonetheless, I’ve been second-guessing most everything about the book lately, wondering whether I was too hasty in publishing it, whether I should take it off market and make some changes to it.
What would those changes be, I don’t know. Improving the grammar (there’s always something to correct no matter how many times you edited the script), adjusting the layout, maybe rearranging some of the chapters… Though I am in a bit of a slump right now, I’m not unhappy with the story itself. Maybe I should be though? It’s hard to know when you get little to zero feedback. I know it’s not perfect (it can never be that) and am well aware that it’s not for everyone, but it is very close to what I aimed for.
Still, I’m constantly struggling with the thought that perhaps, I should ditch my pipe dreams and return to just reading books that others, people who actually can create stories, have written. I know there’s no going back to the point where I was content with writing just to myself with no intention ever to even consider exposing my work to others. It’s either to keep writing with the purpose of publishing or trash my quill once and for all.
I should keep all this to myself, I know, scribble these things into a paper diary and then burn it to destroy all the evidence of my moment of weakness. I would do just that if I wasn’t convinced that most of you who have aspired for getting a book published or published one yourselves have wallowed in the same swamp. Haven’t you? I know also that most of you have crawled up from the bog hole and kept reaching for your goal, was it to become a Nobelist or sell a few hundreds copies on Amazon, despite of all the second-guessing. I’m going to rise from the depths, too, even though, right now, I feel I might drown before reaching the surface.