Every writer has that moment of doubt where they ask themselves that dreaded question comes bubbling up from the tar pits of the mind: Am I good enough? I'm having that moment right now. It's not a pity party either. It's an honest appraisal that I'm having with myself.
I don't know where this is coming from. I didn't get a rejection letter. I'm not submitting anything right now. It just sort of hit me out of the blue and I'm not sure how to react to it. It started after I lost the scrap of an idea I had on the ride in this morning that blew away in the wind because I didn't write it down right away. I started thinking about the futility of trying to get published and wondering about the answer to the question. It's a good question. A fair question. And I don't know if I have an answer for it.
I've had two agents, both of whom left me high and dry, so I guess on some level I am good enough. Not good enough to find a publisher, though. But my search for a third agent has garnered barely a drop in the bucket. I've had some nibbles but got nothing on the book that I swore up and down was "the one." It's downright soul crushing.
