Motivating Head-slap

There's no where to go.  No one left to talk to.  I've reached the end of my rope and the knot is slipping!
What do you do when you have found yourself into that slippery little rut where it becomes easier to give up than to push on?  All road signs point to nowhere.  Is the ground I'm standing on even remotely safe to be standing on?

Yes, I know that it all seems a little melodramatic, but my fist blog post is going to deal with some of the harsh self-beating emotions to being a writer; the dark place where these questions and sensations aren't so melodramatic.

I wanted to begin my first post this way for one simple reasons.  This is how I'm feeling today.  Even after receiving so many rejection letters and form letters, which leave me questions if my submission was used for anything more than a coaster, I know I should be numb to the sensation by now.  However, that's not true.  When I write I have created a piece of me to an extent, and to have it submitted is like the joy of watching your child make a transition in their life.  Then there's those six to twelve weeks of anticipation.  I go through the peaks of, "Oh what will I ever do when I make it big and get all that money," to the lows of, "I'm being rejected and they're taking their time so that they can show everyone how much of a failure I am."  Most days, however, I tend to sit in the middle of the anticipation just thinking how great it would be to be selected at all.

Yet, no matter what, when that letter arrives and I open it to read the first few lines, "Your submission isn't--" that one little contraction (though sometimes it's two words) feels something like having a soccer ball kicked from down field bouncing off your chest.  I rarely continue to read the rest of the letter before I dive into a flurry of, "What was wrong with it?"  Or the always fun rationale of, "Couldn't you have maybe, possibly, made a suggestion of to whom this submission would have been better suited?"

Yet, this isn't where I am at today.  Today I sat down with a YA book to read to see if it was worthwhile recommendation for my students, and I'm currently struggling with my pride.

The book seems to have a very basic idea, gifted girl meets gifted guy.  Of course the expected plot devices occur, girl tries not to let boy know she likes him, boy pursues girl, some calamity happens and the two are separated...but i haven't finished it.  I'm expecting guy and girl will be reunited and their special abilities will prevail and bring peace to the kingdom.

So what's bothering me?  The grammar, for one, drives me nuts.  It's a consistency of little flaws that make me twitch.  The contrite points of complications on the plot annoys me too.  The fact that the book is relatively predictable annoys me.  But what bothers me most of all...it's not the book that I'm reading, nor the issues therein.  It's the fact that I haven't succeeded yet and I'm reading someone else debut novel and I believe my ideas and my devices and my use of language is so superior to hers that this should be me.

I should be applauding a success story and learning from the novelist...possibly stealing her publisher's information from the copyright page and her agent's name from the acknowledgments.  Yet, somehow, reading this books makes me feel the dread of knowing that soccer ball is heading my way, and probably many more times to boot.

So here I am; a teacher of literature and language, a writer-wannabe with jump drives full of research and story ideas, a frustrated but determined failing--er flailing author; and I'm trying to make a mark on the world out yonder, beyond my computer screen and imagination.

So here I am, writing a blog to find an audience and to gather tips, tricks, and possibly steal--well borrow with intent to make my own--ideas.  The line is drawn--Time to cross it.