Whatever it is you’re seeking won’t come in the form you’re expecting.” ― Haruki Murakami
What am I searching for?
I thought I knew.
I have pursued book publication for so many years, it has become a part of my daily existence. Who am I? A writer with an agent, dreaming of a book deal, pounding out novel after novel, hoping this will be “the one.”
It sounds more hopeless than it is.
It isn’t hopeless, but it started to feel that way this year. Publication processes move like an ice age, so my slow inching toward my dream is not a sign I am a bad writer or on the wrong road. However, when the hopelessness sets in, I was forced to ask myself that first question again. What am I searching for?