10 Years of Slogitude

 Today marks the 10 year anniversary of when I started this blog.

That's 10 years since I first submitted a draft of what would become "Meltdown." So 11 years since I first came up with the idea, and 9 years, 11 months, since it was first rejected. 

In those ten years, I've written about 8 drafts of this one book. I've started an embarrassing number of other novels. I've written dozens of short stories, dozens of poems, and one screenplay. Easily half a million words. I've had no fewer than four different blogs. I've won NaNoWriMo three times. I've lost a dozen short story contests. 

I graduated college in those 10 years. I went back and did some more college. I started teaching. I quit teaching. I fell in love, got married, had four kids, found out about my depression and ADHD. 

I've spent hundreds of dollars on advertising, domain names, story competition entries. I've spent at least 40-50 hours most weeks taking courses, observing writers on social media and YouTube, tracking publishing trends, giving advice in writing forums, trading beta reads. 

It's been a lot of little work. A lot of nothing. A little pile of dust that I can gesture to vaguely when someone who knew me as a middle school gifted kid asks "Have you written anything lately?"

It's easy to let those 10 years get on top of me. If you were going to succeed, that insidious little voice whispers in my head, don't you think you would have by now? 

But I don't know. I don't know if that's really how success works. I don't know if grinding for XP and levelling up actually gets you there. I think it's more like winning the lottery. You gotta keep buying tickets. And every time I post, every time I write, every time I try, I'm picking a number. I'm standing in line. I'm swiping that debit card. I don't know if I'll ever hit the jackpot. I don't even completely know what that would mean for me, any more. I know for sure I'll never get any better if I give up, though.

Also, I tried to give up. Didn't stick. 

I started this blog at 22, when I was young and full of hope and still had some of that stubborn gifted-kid ego clinging to me. Today I'm 32, and the shine has worn off of me for myself, and I'm a little more tired. A little less sassy. I hope that in another 10 years, 42-year-old me is still here. Still showing up to the keyboard (or Metaverse Galactic Psychic Touchless Alphabet Algorithm, or whatever). Still buying tickets. 

So happy 10 year anniversary, everyone. Here's to another 10!