This is a puffin I drew a little while ago. He is blue, and I've been a bit blue lately, so I thought he was appropriate. Of course, he also looks a bit tropical, which is just wrong for a whole host of reasons, but, hey, I like him.
Here's the thing about wanting to be a published writer: Sometimes it's just depressing. And discouraging. And disheartening.
Unless you're that one in one hundred writer who actually gets their first manuscript published with very little editing, there will be days when you just don't know if you actually will ever get there. There will be days when you don't want to look at your manuscript because "What's the point?"
It will feel like no one is ever going to read the things you write and like you've just wasted years of your life. You'll wonder why you're bothering to edit this book that no one is ever going to read anyway.
But then, eventually, after wallowing in a few days of self-pity, you'll remember reading about that one author you love. The one who worked a terrible job for years on end and got hundreds of rejections letters and then, finally, went on to become a Big Author. You'll realize it actually makes sense. Learning your craft can take years. Of course it can.
And then you'll pick that manuscript back up (the one you threw on the floor in frustration) and start looking back over those first few pages and doing a little bit of cleaning up here and there. And hope will spring anew.
I haven't been published. I don't even have an agent. So, who knows where this is going. I certainly don't. All I can do is hope - hope and work. And when that hope is nowhere to be found, I'll wallow in my self-pity for a while until hope starts to peek back out of it's hiding place.