I'm in an odd place about my writing.
Weeks ago, I gave up the need to be published. Since then, I've been writing stories, submitting those and poetry to various outlets, where they may or may not get published, may or may not get any readership if they're published.
I've gotten a few more rejections from agents for Apocalypse. It doesn't bother me much.
It seems to me that I poured myself into my writing because I wanted recognition. I wanted readers. I wanted to get a shiny star for publishing.
I had an empty checkmark on my bucket list.
Now that I have gotten runner up on a fiction contest and about to see some flash fiction in publication, I've checked that box.
My one worry is that I don't feel as possessed about writing. No dreams of being published dangled before my head like the proverbial carrot. I could never quite reach it. I feel like maybe I'm slowly giving up, and I don't know if I want to do that.
I guess seeing how this evolves will be another adventure.
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