Publish or Burn?

Every so often a crisis of confidence blows though, like some sort of wicked seasonal storm. Said turbulence chases away the Muse, sends me into a sadness zone, and interrupts any forward progress I’ve been enjoying with my writing.

This time around the trouble has come in the form of doubts about whether or not to chase that goal of getting published. I read about someone who’s just had a magazine accept her article for inclusion in their latest issue, or some guy who’s published five books- and I feel a twinge of envy, which usually morphs into jealousy if I don’t stop dwelling on the subject.

Then the feelings evolve into self-pity, as I think about the two books I worked so hard to self-publish, only to watch them fall into an Amazon abyss. All I have to show for those efforts is a few sales, hard-earned experience, several copies of each book from the POD service, and a bunch of unused ISBNs sitting around, gathering dust.

Attempts at consolation fall flat, especially when I realize that failure is the price to be paid before success happens- yet I lack the patience to endure to the end.

But there’s something else behind all of the angst: a belief that maybe I don’t need to be published- a tough thing to have to accept, but maybe it’s true. After all, getting written work published doesn’t solve one’s problems.

But understanding this intellectually doesn’t help. Why can’t I be like those people for whom the written word is a reward in itself? There’s something about the act of creating something that didn’t exist before that fills emotional and intellectual needs in a way that nothing else can.

Yet this other voice pipes up and says “You have nothing to gripe about, Dan. How many pieces have you submitted to anyone in the last month? Or year? or decade?”

To which I answer “Well, there was that statewide contest back in 2005…”

But in the end, I have to admit that during the last twenty years, I can count on one hand- with a digit or two missing- the number of times I’ve submitted my work to any entity.

And why is this?

1) I believe that my writing has never been good enough to merit consideration in printed form.

2) I’m too lazy to make the effort.

3) I’m afraid of rejection.

4) I suspect that I’ll never make money as a writer, so why make the effort?

As I look over the above, I dismiss all of them as wrong except Reason #1. Belittling self and the accomplishments in my life has been a thorn in the side since I was eight years old.

For some, self-deprecation is difficult, but for me it’s been a lifestyle. Yet there have been times when the magnitude of my success has been such that I have had to admit that “That wasn’t bad at all, Dan. In fact, that’s a damned good piece of work.”

And while I can point to great achievements, writing is the one area where I take cuts in line so I can beat myself up yet again.

It’s illogical.

It doesn’t make sense.

But there it is.

As such, it’s an ongoing battle to keep writing, when the end goal frequently disappears like goalposts on a foggy night.

I guess what keeps me going are the following:

1) Comments I’ve gotten from mentors- published writers at Gotham Writer’s Workshop, who tell me that if I just polish up this section or expand that paragraph, I’ll have something publishable.

2) Those times when I’ll sit back and read something the muse has delivered to my doorstep, and I get choked up, or start laughing, having to admit that “This is really good, Dan.”

3) An overwhelming desire to share my writing with others, especially if it will either uplift, entertain, or inform them.

4) The belief that writing is a calling, and something I’m supposed to be doing for the rest of my days.

Ultimately, reality hits:

Nothing I write will ever see the light of day unless I start submitting work. And then I realize that what’s holding me back is not a lack of confidence or a dearth of quality.

It’s me…

Comments and questions are required welcomed. Ask me anything about memoirs, journaling or personal histories.