In my case, with a 2013 Pitchwars mentor fall in love with mine as much as the few others who have read it for me before I submitted it?
Even the mentors (read: Joy McCullough) chirped on twitter about the normalcy of self-doubt and the little things that pull you back from the overwhelming "writerly" gloominess.
I was so there. As I lay in bed last night, my last conscious thought was a prayer: God, please make it clear to me whether writing is really what I am supposed to be doing.
I awoke to a crazy morning full of mommy stuff to do: make breakfast, get out the door to run errands, and finally to have some adult time at my local MOPS group. This particular day, the leadership were having a Christmas party and we were asked to bring ornaments for an exchange.
It was a frenzy of giddy woman racing for the tree dandy of their choice. I sat there mostly under the same cloud from the night before, thoughts still lingering on Pitchwars and my unfinished NANO novel, which I have nearly given up on. (After an amazing 50k accomplishment? What was wrong with me?) I was one of the last to pick an ornament, so I had the pick of the pack. The only ornament that had caught my attention was a simple glittering snowball I had seen from afar. But I figured what the heck.
I traded a snowman bulb for the beautiful green box I knew the snowball was snuggled into. When I opened it to see it up close, I realized that it was not only homemade, but it was from pages of a book, a gift of words covered in glitter and made in love. I stared at it a moment, utter shock written all over my face, until I realized that this was the small thing Joy McCullough had spoken about. My confirmation topped with a loopy, hemp bow.
This picture doesn't do the sparkles justice.
And I whispered a prayer of thanks.
Writing's what I am meant to do. And short of God, there is nothing that will stop me from living my dream.