Staying Optimistic

I’m an author. I have self-published and sold books. I don’t have much of a following, and I don’t have the confidence-boosting event of an agent liking my work, but I’m serious about writing.

I still don’t know where writing will lead. I suppose I should assume that if my writing hasn’t gone anywhere in the five years I’ve been self-publishing, that it’s not going to go anywhere. But I’m optimistic, because the most important thing to me are the words and their meaning. Everything else is beyond my control to a great extent.

I don’t know if I believe in God, but I pray for success. I don’t specify what success looks like, because I don’t like telling God what to do. I also don’t think God is going to get me a publishing contract, but maybe They will help me see success when it’s in front of my eyes. Maybe I’ll see a new way to publicize my work. Maybe I will have a strong desire to let writing go.

My definition of success is having readers who want to read the next novel in the series. Readers whose imaginations visit Barn Swallows’ Dance or the neighborhoods of Chicago where my characters live. People who know who their favorite character is. I want people to feel welcome in my world. Maybe I can have that success.

We shall see. I will never have any success if I give up.

Optimism in the Face of Rejection

Optimism is hard to manage sometimes. I always take risks with optimism that they will improve my future, and for the last six years, they have not panned out. I can’t be specific with the particulars, but let’s say I have put myself forward for a lot of opportunities only to not be chosen.

I’m working on not feeling sorry for myself and seeing this latest failure as room for other opportunities. The people around me with more faith in God would say that God is waiting for the right moment to open up new opportunities. I don’t think God is that hands-on, given how many people in the world there are. I don’t think God reserves this for His (and I deliberately use “his” here) True Believers. And I don’t think a God would hold me back from some of the most excellent opportunities I did not succeed in. So I have to believe that if there are new opportunities that will actually become fruitful, I have not seen them yet. I have to believe in “yet”.

Or maybe I am taking the wrong opportunities. I have been trying the last six (at least) years to re-invent myself. Ever since I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and put on medication, I have changed as a person — no elation, no depression, no excitement unless I have a compelling goal, less enthusiastic, more introverted, less charming. I have felt too rooted and unfulfilled in my life, especially 5 years from retirement, and at the same time not manic enough to chuck everything away and move to Thailand.

If I don’t try, I will never get where I want. But I hate trying for something when so much of it is out of my control. And reinventing myself requires the outside world. All I can do, though, is be optimistic. God, if you’re listening, point me toward the right opportunity.

My Family’s Curse

I believe that families have curses; however, what I mean by curse is a way of thinking, believing, or acting that hinders coping, relationships, and outlook. For example, a family that keeps trauma bottled up creates a dysfunctional habit that will pass from generation to generation.

My family’s curse is a killing of joy, a pervasive belief that joy is dangerous because good things never happen. For example, suppose there is a child who is looking forward to their birthday. Their grandmother says in a sepulchral voice, “Don’t look forward to anything; you’ll only get disappointed.” The child integrates this world view and passes it to their optimistic children so that children strangle their joy and grow up with the dreary world view.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

I have only partially internalized the curse; I feel elation every time I write queries for a book of mine. And then the family curse wakens in my mother’s voice and version: “My grandmother said you should never look forward to anything, because you’ll only be disappointed.” Her version of the curse invokes a matriarch whom I have never met, but stands as the forgotten fairy at the christening delivering the curse.

The faulty curse wobbles around in me — I feel hope and elation, followed by guilt I should feel this way, and caution in my mother’s voice: “Don’t look forward …” I do not hug the family curse as a reality I should adopt, but it has not died in me either.

Learning optimism

Speaking of anticipating good things happening , I’ve noticed that pessimists often call themselves “realists”, yet I haven’t heard optimists say the same thing. It’s almost as if, again, we expect bad things to happen and not good.

I’m trying to focus on good things happening — the good deeds of humans, the unexpected good thing, achievements and accomplishments, and so on. The things that spark gratitude and, thus, happiness.

Being an optimist is not the same as descending into toxic positivity. I don’t chirp “Look on the bright side!” to people who are going through tough times; I listen to them. I don’t ignore my own feelings of hurt. I don’t choose to ignore the bad things in the world.

I hope. That is the core of optimism — hoping for good things in the future.

It’s hard sometimes. I worry that I am enjoying my white privilege. I deal with a pessimistic inner voice that tells me I’m just going to get hurt. I wonder if I’m fooling myself.

However, I think I’m doing the right thing. Pessimism makes us ill and makes us unhappy with life. I hope to stick with optimism because it seems healthier.

Optimism

I grew up in a household where optimism was terminated with extreme prejudice. “Don’t look forward to anything — you might get disappointed,” my mother would say, as her mother said before her and so on.

As a result, I am wary of my optimism. Whenever I submit a query to a publisher or agent, whenever I submit a poem or short story to a website or literary journal, my mind fantasizes about getting that acceptance, that stamp of approval that is going to change my life forever, and the nagging Mom-voice kicks in with the family legacy,

Most of the time, I don’t get accepted. With my short stories and poems, I think I have a 10% publishing rate, which isn’t bad. I haven’t gotten more than an honorable mention in a “high literary” outfit. Which isn’t bad, but maybe not life-changing.

As for the novel front, I haven’t gotten an agent or publisher yet despite a whole lot of improving and improving and editing and rewriting and querying and … yet every time I submit I daydream about how I’ll get picked up and my life will change.

And I will get disappointed again. Which is why I distrust my optimism. Which is the wrong thing to do.

There is nothing wrong with optimism. It helps me motivate for another try. It puts a bounce in my step. It enhances my day. Sure, I might get my hopes crushed (90% of the time I do) but the optimism is worth it.

So I will stay optimistic despite my internal Mom-voice trying to ruin all my fun. It might pay off in the end.

Optimism and the Aspiring Author

I wish I had more patience.

I’m playing the long game, wanting to be traditionally published. And it’s a long game, because the market is glutted with people like me who want to be published. The market is fickle, as it wants to pick books without risk. And the market is shrinking, because there are fewer readers.

I have invested a lot in my books. Developmental edits, beta reading, and sometimes massive rewritings. I’m now at a point where I don’t think I can improve them any more. (I could, of course, be wrong). I have gone through cycles of rejection, and I don’t know if I can go through it again.

But I do, because I have optimism. Every morning I wake up believing that my life could change in one day. I’ve heard enough stories where someone’s life changes tragically in one moment; I believe it’s just as likely that my life can change for the better. So as long as I have my works in the hands of agents and publishers, I can hope.

Update (personal)

My brain feels rusty.
These last couple days I’ve been trying to recover from a tooth pulling/the meds/getting off the meds (hydrocodone does a number on me, but so does pain).

Best rejection ever.
I got a rejection on Prodigies from Stirling Publishing (UK) which sounded like an almost-acceptance. I don’t feel too bad about it.

Glass half-full
Lately I’ve gotten second places and honorable mentions on my short story/poetry submissions, so I feel like maybe either my work is getting better or it’s finding its home. Or my luck is getting better. I’m still frustrated and still looking for an agent.

Time to go to bed.

Working on Optimism

I got another rejection today; that makes four out of 25 on Apocalypse. I might have to accept the fact that I get through this querying cycle without any offers, or even nibbles, again.

I’m not sure what to do. I suppose I can wait and query my novels again, to see if the climate has improved. Or I can self-publish, and I’m still very opposed to doing that. I don’t know if there’s an editor that can help at this point.

I’m going to try to stay optimistic, mostly because it feels better that way. I am going to let this adversity strip me down to gold, and I don’t know what that version of me will look like, but I’m willing to go there.

Revving the treadmill engine

I guess I got tired of that idyllic end of summer crap, because I’ve sent twenty queries over the past couple of days.

That’s twenty chances for rejection, I know. That’s also twenty chances for requests for manuscripts. That’s twenty chances for someone to share my query with another agent in the agency. Twenty more agents who know my name.

No, I’m not always as optimistic as I sound. It’s just that my hedonic treadmill, the constant state of moving up and down from our hedonic set point , really gets revving up when presented with possibilities.

So I have to get more queries out there to rev my treadmill engine, and so I’ll be writing those up until I work New York Hope as moulage crew and then start my semester.

In the meantime, I dream of someday having a book release party. Locally, where I’m with the people I know. Cake and coffee and punch. What quirky things do you think should happen at a book party? Humor me.

optimism and waiting

Apocalypse is ready for querying, but I’m going to sit on it for a while, until I know what’s happening with Prodigies. If Prodigies gets accepted by either DAW or the remaining agent on my list, it changes the whole dynamic.

I’m thinking positive. My good Germanic role models on my mother’s side of the family would discourage my positive thinking. The Koenig family motto is “Don’t look forward to anything; you might be disappointed.” The problem with this, though, is that all that time I’m not looking forward to a positive outcome doesn’t make the rejection any easier, and in fact, prolongs the misery.

Optimism always makes me worry that I might be hypomanic; as someone with Bipolar 2, this is not an idle worry. But I’m not being kept awake by disparate thoughts linking with each other like boxcars in a railyard, so maybe this is true optimism.

So I wait.