A Writer's Notebook, Day Seven-Hundred-And-Thirty-Seven

I am stuck thinking about the same things again, and not wanting to write more about them.  It is not as if I can fix things by communicating my feelings better, though I suppose that is a strange thing for a writer to say, and I recognize that their is the possibility that understanding can come from attempting to convey an idea, that a large part of writing about such things is attempting to alter my own perspective and move forward.  In this case, though, I am aware of the reality that changing perspective is not helpful.  As I think I have expressed, I am not interested in feeling better about this situation.  To think about my current experience in a way that denies the sense of being a failure, and which does not recognize that in the context of the investments I have made in my life, does not help me.  I would never have chosen to be a poet if it were not for numerous people who led me to believe I had a talent, and who offered both explicit and implicit promises of help, as well as convincing me that I would find success in this arena.  Now, I find that I cannot get that help, and am not even offered any advice about why I might be having trouble, or elements of poetry that I could work on to improve my outcomes.  I am told, still, that my work is good, and with similar enthusiasm.  In this context, the suggestion that I accept my current situation only makes me feel I have been conned, that others pushed me in a direction that led to me wasting the opportunities I once had.  If it is that, I will never feel like anything but a failure, and attempting to change that perspective would only make me feel worse.  At some point, the question of the quality of my work is the one that matters, and the ultimate, practical criteria by which I can judge that is in terms of publication and reception.  This is not to say I don't believe in the quality of my writing, and I know editors often miss works that later become important, but in terms of developing a career in my life, I cannot pretend that publishing isn't essential.  For me, the question is one of failing in terms of the life I have been working to build, in terms of what I have been pursuing my entire adult life.  To deny that not being able to at least make progress towards those goals after so much effort is failure would be a lie, and I have not found any perspective that makes me feel better for that, and I do not think I would want to.  In the end, I do not have any choice but to keep trying until I am either utterly cracked and destroyed, or I have found some level of success.  That is not a reality that I am glad about, and I will continue to fight it, even though I recognize it is how things are, and know that the struggle is probably not in my best interests.  I cannot keep doing the same thing and waiting for a change, and quitting is worse, so what is left?  I need to figure something out instead of talking about it again.

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