You really can’t write. You’re mediocre at best. You suck, girl. Give it up already.

NO! I will not. You can’t make me!

But you’re not that good. You know you’re not. You half-ass everything, even writing. Just quit while you’re ahead.

I don’t believe you! Stop trying to tear me down! I’m not half-assing it. Really!

You can’t do it and you know it. You’re fooling yourself into thinking you’re talented. Give it up!

NO! NO! NO! I won’t. You can’t make me!

This is the conversation I had with myself last night. I think it strikes us all from time to time but they have been really niggling at me a lot lately. Especially after getting yet another rejection.

Well, it was a positive rejection at least. I’m still deciding what to do with the manuscript because, really, I’m not sure if I agree with what the editor had to say. It’s one of those things I’m on the fence about and it’s probably just me being stupid. So, I’m going to sleep on it a couple of days before I make a decision. Either I’ll go for the revision and resubmit, or I’ll just pass altogether.

Still… It’s really hard not to feel like a failure sometimes.

My 12 year old niece has decided she wants to be an author when she grows up. I have to really stop myself from telling her the ugly truth - it’s a jungle out there and there are no guarantees. Instead, I encourage her and tell her she CAN write really wonderful stories people will want to read. I even bought her a craft book (Writing Magic - and I got one for myself, as well hehe). I don’t want to discourage her, becuase the world could always use more storytellers.

But then I sit back and I think… WTF? Why do I torture myself so? Is this something that I’m really cut out for? Is it really in my blood? Do I really drink, eat, sleep, breathe writing? Do I dare attempt to continue down this dusty, dirty, lonely road?

That’s when I realized… I’m not alone. In the shadows of the forest, there are others just like me. They’re walking there, silently, gripping their pens (or laptops) and furiously writing their hearts out. They’re writing the stories THEY want to write and they’re finding their way. They eat, drink, sleep, breathe it.

And, yes, so do I. It’s not something I will give up on. Not yet. I have to keep trying. I have to go forth and conquor.

SO OUT you demons, OUT! You haven’t defeated me yet! I will triumph! Even if it takes me till I’m old and gray (well, I’m gray already…so maybe just old…)