Today, after a fair bit of ‘polish’ and undoubtedly some improvement, a collection of poems is now off for yet another opportunity to be read by a bunch of people who it is doubtful will either grasp or appreciate the subject matter. I might be lucky, it could hit the target, but more and more likely is the reality that what I’m interested in writing about is not going to get me published.
This realisation has resulted in a fair bit of frustration and annoyance.
Write what you know, they said, so I have, except nobody else seems to care. Granted, I’ve not been at this very long (it’ll be two years in July) and yes, I’ve won something but that was very much writing what I was told. There’s another couple of those style of works ready to go for other projects and should those manage to make the cut, it will be even more apparent that my best collection of poems is simply… well, too niche for a niche industry.
THEN we might have to bite the bullet and self-publish, and that’s a possibility already being entertained, but to do so all the financial risk ends up on me. Self-publishing is clearly not credible in many people’s minds and eyes and this is where I get increasingly angry and stuff starts flying about. There needs to be more places sought out to try and publish with. Everything needs to be crossed that I may yet hit a big target with a submitted work.
This is all incredibly difficult to sustain as a viable profession long term.
The key, of course, is persistence. This work is strong, and patience is the key that will unlock every door, in time. Whether I can stay in these places, or whether they will accept me or not as one of their own is largely irrelevant. The desire is mine alone. It is on days like today, when another ten months of potential failure rears its head that there needs to be confidence and belief. Rant all you want, feel better, then take a deep breath and move on.
I know I’m not alone either. This is a battle being fought by thousands on multiple fronts, and it should not matter whether there’s validation or not, except that’s the biggest lie going, and made it into a poem. Write what you know, they said, and so I did just that, I wrote about my anger at nobody listening and caring. Whether it makes the slightest bit of difference I do not yet know, but at least this makes a sore brain feel better.
Some days, you just want to rant.