A Literary Sisyphus, and Other Futile Endeavors

Writing is hard, y’all.

Well, correction.  Writing is enjoyable.  Writing feels nice.  Writing is artistic, and a creative outlet, and a way to communicate other than speech, which is the goal of ALL art forms.

But writer’s block is a bitch.  And rejection feels lousy.  And reading fees get expensive.  And little failures add up over time to start you down a spiral of wondering, “Am I really good at this at all?”

So, it’s a coin, and those are the two sides, and also, the coin is in a gutter, and there’s a rainstorm, and, also, the planet is currently melting.

But, sometimes…just sometimes…you stumble on a way to say something that hasn’t been said before, or a way to describe a phenomenon that makes someone truly see what you see, or share an experience that makes someone feel less alone in this world.  And then you can see the light again, in your writing, in the process, in the result.

I might suck at this, at the end of the day.  But sometimes, maybe, just maybe, I don’t.  And isn’t that a good enough reason to do anything?