Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'

Today should by all rights be a suck-ass day.

Got another rejection from a magazine, a very kind and polite letter that I have to admit is probably correct. Not enough that's new to grab their interest, and the characters weren't sympathetic enough. Like I've said before, you want people to care when your protagonist falls into the wood chipper and dies a horrible, bloody death :) So I missed the mark again, which isn't fun, but is pretty common when you first start trying to publish. Lots of people say they could wallpaper their office with rejections, so you do the math!

I get frustrated and sometimes I take it personally, which is really quite stupid because no one's rejecting me, the person; it's just words I strung together on the page. Today, it's mostly about doubt--will I ever succeed? Another silly idea, when I'm going to be writing for the rest of my life, for another 40+ years at least. It's pretty hard to believe that if I keep writing and trying, 40-some years could go by without a publication!

It's also about fear. As in, "What if I never get published? What if I never succeed? What if I have to work crap jobs for the rest of my life to make money while I bang my head against the wall and get shot down over and over again? What if my little family struggles along for the rest of my life because I don't succeed?" Believe me, that's a terrifying idea. Although I sincerely doubt anyone likes failing, it scares me to question whether I've finally come up against something I can't beat into submission and MAKE myself successful at.

Part of the problem is time. The clock is ticking louder with every passing day as I approach the midpoint of my life. It went so fast, as I got caught up in the everyday struggles of life, until I woke up a little and understood how much was gone. And I finally realized that I have a choice to make--do I want to get busy living, or get busy dying, as Red said in Stephen King's wonderful story, "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption?" I can say I want the former, but am I ready to walk the walk? Living involves risk, and uncertainty, and growth, all of which can lead to failure. But it can also lead to success. And getting busy dying never does that.

I don't want to give the impression that I'm happily writing a motivational essay, here. I've lied and fooled a lot of people along the way, including myself, into thinking I was doing okay when I was dying inside a bit more with each passing day, and I want to avoid that at all costs. This is difficult and scary and frustrating, but I like to think it's honest. There are few easy answers, right decisions, and safe bets in life--that's the honest truth. That's life.

When it comes right down to it, I think it's about will. As Yoda said in Star Wars, "Do or do not--there is no try." Protesting "I tried" is half-hearted, half-assed, and half-truthful. "I did" means giving it all you had, your very best, honestly. Is it worse to give it your all and fail, or "try" and fail? Either way, the outcome is the same, but in one case you can preserve the fiction that "I could've done that if I wanted to/if they weren't such fools/if I really tried." You never have to face the possibility that perhaps you can't do it. It's paradoxical, because by avoiding the true test, you don't go all the way, and therefore fail anyhow; it pampers and protects the fragile ego, but does little else.

So maybe better questions are, "What if I give it my all, every bit of my heart and soul? What if I succeed? What if I'm completely honest and let nothing stand in my way, including myself?"

What if I live?