If you’re an extroverted writer, this post probably won’t mean much to you, but if you’re an introvert, pay attention. It’s lonely being a writer. My circle of live-and-in-person writing friends is just big enough to span … a card table. Once a month. Yeah, I’m about as introverted as you can be. So you, my blog friends, are my main literary circle.
And yet, about every other week, I decide blogging takes too much of my time. I ponder cutting back to a weekly post. Maybe none at all. Or I could save time by not replying to comments, but as I’ve said before, I consider that akin to inviting you into my home and then refusing to speak to you.
I do a lot of whining on this blog. I rant on occasion. I voice my doubts and fears. I’ve lost some readers, but I’ve gained some too. And what do you do in return? You commiserate, you thank me, sometimes you even laugh at my weak attempts at humor. You give up some of your precious time to read my posts and leave comments. But that’s not the best of what you do.
You give back more than I deserve, but exactly what I need. You encourage me. Sometimes you do that with a slap on the back—you can do it. Sometimes you do that with a slap across the face—snap out of it. And sometimes your cheerleading also whacks me upside the head.
If you read my last post, you know I’ve been struggling to write that knockout query letter. I’ve been haranguing a couple of friends to HELP ME! About mid-morning yesterday, I decided I was sick of myself. Neither one of those friends needs help writing their query letters. I was too needy. I was pathetic.
About ten minutes later, I saw notice of a new blog comment. It was this one left by Brett. I read it and almost cried. It touched me that she would care enough to write such a comment. And then, I had the opposite reaction from what I’m sure she intended me to have. I got angry.
Not angry at Brett; angry at myself. It was time to fish or cut bait. Either I’m a writer or I’m not, and if I am, I darn well better learn to trust myself to write. No “sales pitches” aren’t my thing. So what. It’s my book. I wrote every word of it. Who better to tell an agent why she should be dying to read it?
So, I will write my query letter—a bright and shiny one. And I won’t ever quit blogging. I’d miss you guys too much.
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