I recently met someone who, after a bad relationship fifteen years ago, gave up on relationships. He’s committed to his solitary singlehood, unwilling to consider the possibility the situation could change. I was stunned by his certainty, his ability to shut off the thought of hope.
It got me thinking – is there an age when we give up? When we stop trying for things we’ve long dreamed about? I hope the answer is no, as I still have far too many dreams I’m striving to attain. In all honesty, I live for Poets & Writers ‘50 and Above’ issue; I have this awesome fantasy about seeing my face on the cover.
I’ve been writing seriously for close to twenty years now. I’ve got four finished novels (one of which will never leave the drawer, two of which need total rewrites and one that I love and am currently shopping to agents) and a boatload of short stories. I’ve attended a conferences, workshops and classes and improved my writing significantly, yet I have not been published. A large part of that rests on me – I don’t send out much of my work.
When I talk about being a writer to people, they invariably ask if I’ve been published. I always answer ‘someday.’ My Dad, in particular, has difficulty understanding how I can continue to pursue this dream with minimal (if any) reward. I get it. There are days I wonder the same thing. And then I remember how much I want to see my books on the shelf at Park Road Books. Reviewed by the New York Times. Reprinted in the New Yorker.
Unlike my friend, I’m not giving up on my dreams. I can’t. If I do, what’s left to live for?
I’d love to hear your thoughts, please let me know your dreams!