Message In The Virtual Bottle

Part of the problem with being broke after the holidays are days spent at home.  Horrible sounding, I know.  I am not complaining about the late-sleeping, television-controlling, fun-cooking times.  What I am talking about is the quiet times; the times of lists of things to do; he stretches of plotting and planning; the periods of reflection and introspection.  By the third day,I gnaw at the edges of my canvas brain.  The frame has long been since been broke and the painting of how I see myself in the world warps beyond recognition.

As a writer, how do you ever know you’re good (or good enough)?  I’ve been relying on outside influences to tell me.  One friend who will stand her ground until her dying day says I’m a fantastic writer yet she never reads any of my work.  My husband is the same way: swears I’m a great writer but cannot find the time to read my work.  

Yes, there is plenty of advice stating not to rely on friends/family for that boost.  I took it to mean they wouldn’t tell you the hard stuff about your work - what needs fixing.  Fair enough. I should stop asking my friends and family to feed my ego so I can write the next chapter.  It isn’t fair to them.

Writing groups:  most writers either have or will tell you to find a writers group or writing group.  The only support I have ever received for my writing was fanfiction for one email group and a few roleplays.  Any professional writing hasn’t been as well received.  In fact, it hasn’t been received at all.  

I have a handwritten letter from an editor who rejected me. I framed it because he was kind enough to explain why and what I should work on and please try again.  I haven’t tried again, but I should.  How was I supposed to know that rejection would be as good as it ever got?  I thought the editor that wrote, “no, thank you,” on my submission letter and mailed it back to me in my own self-addressed stamped envelope was tacky.  Nowadays, I don’t even receive a response from a publisher. I receive a nice automated response that my submission has been received and someone should be with me shortly.

And then nothing.

The first professionally published writer I attempted to befriend snapped and yelled at me for being supportive.  The next supported me when it suited the writer. When it didn’t, I was torn to pieces without an explanation as to what was wrong or how I could possibly fix it.

Most online writing groups are nothing more than prompts and write; no one is interested in critiquing your work unless you stroke their ego first (and I understand how your ego can starve out there in the cold).  I resorted to participating in a write-a-thon, begging money from friends and family, so I might receive a decent critique on my work.  However, it’s a one time prize, so you can’t follow up with the fixes to make sure it all works.

So, the question still stands:  how do I feed my ego so I keep going?  The idea of stopping breaks me down into violent sobs.  Stopping isn’t an option, but going on like this isn’t one either.

I don’t have any blind faith or false hope. I checked. I looked everywhere.

How do you feed your ego?