Similar title to previous post. But different route.
I rather liked the last post, but apparently it went down about as well as a toppled wheelbarrow filled with wet gravel. So, I yanked it from public view and kept it for myself. One day, I will revisit it and laugh, cry, groan and/or moan.
To be honest, I had originally thought of cul-de-sacs and detours in terms of my writing but became sidetracked and focused on that which should remain private. Enough baring the soul, which served a purpose once upon a time; now, it’s a true “the end”.
As a writer (and editor), I’ve traveled many roads . . . such as the small path I first stepped on at the age of twelve, when I realized I so enjoyed writing and wanted to pursue that as a vocation. But I remained in a cul-de-sac for several years because I simply couldn’t view the avenue that would lead me onward . . . to that desired profession.
I ambled down different paths—went to film school and even worked in the industry for a wee while, until the music world opened up. Those were exciting times. But even better? I even had the opportunity to write some promo pieces and that desire to become a writer reemerged in a major [driven] way.
Part-time courses proved fun. Writing associations and groups were enlightening. Taking pen to paper was enthralling. I was on my way to hammering down Writer Highway #33.
Oddly, the access roads on which agents and publishers resided led nowhere; they didn’t seem excited about the manuscripts I so gleefully and proudly submitted. Why?! I had marvelous stories to tell, my-oh-my yes. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the perspective), the required skillset [talent] hadn’t really developed—something to do with not seeing the forest for the trees.
Yours truly took a detour or three—kept writing, but not learning. I think it’s a writer’s thing, probably best known as “ego”, where we don’t/won’t listen to constructive criticism, and continue going (plodding along) and ignoring the signs.
I never gave up, though, even when I received countless rejections and one [very] cruel response from a publisher. I inflated the vastly deflated self-esteem and plowed down a congested artery, knowing it would be difficult to navigate. Somehow, some way, however, that ultimate destination would be reached.
Several years later, after paying many tolls, [finally] learning means and methods, and taking the [very] long way around, I arrived at that longed-for journey’s end: becoming published. A dream come true. Yes, it doesn’t pay much, and maybe the fame (or notoriety? LOL) isn’t there, but it’s all good. Very good indeed. <pat on back>
The Writer's Grab-Bag 