This week, after the America’s Cup win, we heard how close Team NZ were to giving up. After years of training and racing, rethinking their strategies, watching the rules change, getting so close to victory and failing… I bet they thought it was all for nothing.
I’ve been writing now for six years, sending out manuscripts, logging rejections, revising, starting over, resending… for five years. Last year I started working with a literary agent but a year on we’re still revising my novel. It’s a long, long road. And there are no guarantees.
I wonder, if I’d known from day one how long it would take, how hard it could be, if I’d have bothered. It hurts, all this critique that makes me better. Every time it feels like a kick in the gut, no matter how constructive and on-the-mark.
Starting out on a journey can be exhilarating but not knowing how long it’ll take or how much it’ll cost you is all kinds of frustrating. We want God to give us straight answers, short cuts and guarantees. But I suspect, if we knew what we were getting into, we’d give up right at the start.
Our ignorance lets us tackle a challenge we might not have had the courage to face knowingly. So, not knowing if my agent is going to love this draft or dump me, not knowing if the prize is a year away or ten, I write on, hoping. But I won’t lie, there are days it’d be so easy to quit.