Publishers and authors know how many writers suffer deep-seated fears and insecurity in regards to their work. I, like many others before me, invent a place peopled with characters I must grow to trust more than life itself as I write. Steering them on the crazy ship of imagination. But for all humans, much of what we trust is invisible, trust is a wing and a prayer, a faith that you will walk and talk for at least this day; that your soul’s instinct is a voice to listen to; that the love of another for you actually exists. Life is a huge guessing game. Frail tottering.
When any publisher says; “Without me you won’t know who you are,” it is easy to believe this. Because it’s hard to know anything for certain. Many, many, many of us want to be told what to do and how to do it. We want to be wanted a lot. We want to be saved from pain or trouble. But the truth is, if I can’t begin to save myself who can possibly help? I trust that I should write because without that trust I can’t write very well for very long at all. It doesn’t help when outsiders start swinging their wands around like nun-chucks. Let’s say publishers reject one thousand books for each book they accept is that proof-positive that 999 writers suck?