Oh, Woe is Me

It's days like today that I wonder why I want to be a writer. I'm full of stress and frustration, but I can't put my finger on the problem.

Is it the heat and humidity? Maybe ... I can't stand heat and humidity; it makes me feel like I want to melt into the pavement. My brain feels fuzzy and I get more cranky than a hungry mama bear.

It is the under-appreciation that others have for me work? Maybe ... with the exception of my hubby and my youngest daughter, no one seems to care that I write. I've had a monthly column in our local paper for the past 12 years and I rarely get any feedback. I know that I'm writing because it's what I love to do, and I say I don't care what others think; but every once in a while it would be nice to have my Mom and Dad or my brother or my aunts and uncles say something encouraging.

Is it frustration from getting rejection slip after rejection slip? Maybe ... this one really does hurt. I know that I can probably go the self-publication route, but I just don't want to until I've explored all my options. So I keep slugging away. I've probably got enough rejection slips to wallpaper my writing room.

Okay, enough whining! I've got to pull my self-esteem up by the boot straps and carry on with life. It's Saturday and this is usually a day when I can write for several hours - uninterrupted. So, I'm leaving the desktop computer and heading for my favorite reading chair with my laptop, my notebook and my imagination. Maybe something productive will come from this moment of self-pity. We'll see ...