A pile of broken dreams or a steel wrecking ball?

I came across an old bit of a post that I'd saved but never published. (remember, we aren't supposed to write about querying, despite the fact that it's one of the hardest things writers do, just after submissions, reading bad reviews, getting dropped by publisher and having agent leave the business).

Anyhow, what I found amazing was how much this feeling doesn't seem to change. Enough prologue, here's a clip from a bit of a distant post that's only now seeing the light of day.





I'm not gonna lie to you: my heart has been broken.

My dreams have been crushed.

I've seen what it looks like when everything I've dreamed has been burned down to the bitter ash. It ain't pretty.

But, as they say, Life goes on. Life doesn't care that your heart is shattered. Life doesn't care that you were broken. Life goes on, with or with out you.

And the frightening thing, is that all aspects of life go on. I got off the querying horse for a while. I needed a break, like for real. Sure, I have a ton of books just ready to hit go, but I needed to step away because sometimes publishing is crazy. Every book I've queried has broken my heart in some way or another, and now I'm back at that point where I'm trying to screw up my courage and do it again.

I'm back to reading agent bios and interviews, a pass time I'd sworn off. As I read, I find myself falling in love with them, my mind painting a picture of what my life would look like on the other side of finding the agent who will take me on.

I've been here before. I've stood on this shore and watched those waves come in. I always dream they'll be the waves to launch my boat, but instead, they eat away at the base of the cliff. It has always ended the same.

Like a fool, I find that there is still hope, and I wonder how? 

Where did you come from, hope? Did you not see how this ended last time? What about the time before? And the time before that? Why are you the one without reason, Hope? How did you survive the pyres on which I burned my last dream? How are you still alive, letting me fall in love again?

So, as you can see, I'm an idiot. My heart has taken leave of its senses and somehow--magically, for I had nothing to do with it--has reassembled itself to the point of feeling like an indestructible sphere of annihilation. 


But then I hesitate. This hurt last time. Am I ready to have this dream ground under the heel of a business model? Is my heart as indestructible as it pretends?

nope.

But it's too late, I've already jumped.

The current is faster than I remembered.

Sink or swim.