Poem of the Week: Fingers Crossed: Ramblings of an Anxious Author

Fingers Crossed: Ramblings of an Anxious Author
June 1, 2015

Finally back in business after two, three torturous weeks
Of wracking my brain and going quite insane with each emotional peak
As I tried to sort out my latest work and where I wanted it to go,
Only to go nowhere time and again, much to my incessant woe.

This path ain’t always easy. In fact, it’s often a pain,
Especially when you bust your butt on things you know won’t gain
You the recognition you deserve for how hard you work
On your chosen projects day in, day out, making you wonder what you’re worth.

I sure know I often wonder to myself if I’ve the touch
And whether or not I’m any good at what I’ve spent so much
Time and effort on for how many years I’ve been alive,
Only to be denied time and again to achieve that for which I strive.

So often I’ve wondered what I’m doing wrong in each of my tasks—
What I’m doing to hold myself back for each time I dare to ask
Someone to accept my work at long last and take one step closer
In proving myself a superstar and not just another poser.

Why is my work so untouchable? Is it really that bloody shoddy?
Can I not tell a good story at all? Is that why I’m ignored by everybody?
Does my choice matter not sell well? Is my story structure a mess?
Are my characters unappealing? Tell me why my work’s not the best.

That’s not what I’m ever told, sadly…only that one’s “overwhelmed”
Or that one’s simply “not interested”—just the vaguest of tripe from the helm.
Very rarely will one tell me that one can’t market work like mine
Or that one’s not representing such stuff at the present time.

Too many, too, are rude as all hell in relaying such info to me.
Apparently, tact has been out of style for years, as I’ve some to see.
Well, sorry, jerks, if I’ve offended you with my apparent ignorance,
But treating me like my work and I are worthless has no defense.

So why do I still bother? Why do I keep doing what I do
When I know my work will keep being turned down my whole life through?
Am I somehow masochistic? Does being rejected somehow
Fill me with relief or ecstasy that I don’t know about just now?

Do I perchance revel in failure? That somehow doesn’t seem right,
‘Cause last time I checked, my facelessness still haunts me day and night,
And yet, I keep plugging away despite each time I’ve been turned down,
Knowing almost certainly that once more my efforts will lead me to frown.

Then again, who’m I kidding? The odds have been beaten before
By many a talented worker and even by many a bore
Who’ve created works that have stood the test of time seventy-fold
That many have deemed to be the greatest stories ever told,

And for right or for wrong, I’ve come to believe I’m one of them,
And that one day folks’ll read my stuff and reminisce to back when
They first read my words and perchance might be inspired themselves
To write works of their own to line other people’s bookshelves.

I know it sounds pretentious and self-centered, but let me be real:
To make my mark in the business to me would mean a great deal—
Not just for the money, either, but for love and fame as well,
And in order to get to heaven, sometimes one must suffer hell.

It’s all a lesson in paying dues, so I’ve learned the hard way,
And I’m getting a bit impatient, I’ll admit, to see the day
When all my hard work finally pays off for a lifetime’s sake.
Naturally, then, I hope all this time I did not chance to forsake.

With fingers crossed, then, I continue working on my main course:
A project that I hope will finally lead me on course
To living the dream I’ve dreamt for so long, at last making it real,
And if I must carry on laboring to earn it, then that’s the deal.

Back to work for me, then, in the name of a better life
Where things may become more hectic, but without my present strife.
There’s got to be someone out there who sees merit in me,
And once I finally make it, for me will no better place be.


Author Pages: Smashwords.com




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