Last night, I had a dream that a different me was yelling at me. She told me I have been writing for so long that I should be good at it and that the fact that I’m still not, that I still haven’t made a real sale, is a sign that I should move on.
I woke up unsurprised. A part of me has felt that way since I tried, and failed, to sell the manuscript. The other part of me has reminded me how many times writers fail before success, how many manuscripts they send before one catches, etc etc. But it seems that’s not quite good enough for the critic in the back of my mind.
I have nothing inspirational to end this with. My mind is split fairly evenly on the matter.