I hope that my writing will go somewhere. It’s difficult because the world of books has seen a renaissance of writers with a waning number of readers. The number of writers has exploded because of Amazon KDP and self-publishing. There are good books out there and bad ones, and readers are loath to sort through them all.
As a writer, I could let this discourage me, and sometimes I do. This doesn’t mean I quit promoting my work. I promote and hope I get better at it. I hope my promotions pay off. I hope people read my books.
I won’t tie hope to a specific outcome, however. I hope things go well, not defining what that means. There’s so many ways that positive things happen, some of which I can’t even imagine right now. So no “I hope people read the promotional posts I put on Loomly” but “I hope positive things happen from posting.” Maybe it’s superstitious, but I enjoy keeping my options open.
Emily Dickinson once compared hope to a bird that perches inside us and sings. I find hope to be something more like a rough, homely rock which I need to keep polishing so that I can find the gem underneath. Sometimes it seems the work to reveal it will never end, but I must believe and polish the rock.
Words Like Me 