Open Writing

What a see-saw this writing business is.

Why on earth do we writers keep on writing? Certainly not to make our fortunes, still less to become famous, except for the lucky few.

Ah, of course, I remember now—we do it because we love it. But it's oh, so nice to have the occasional confirmation that what we write is worth reading, that others have enjoyed it too.

Even published writers must endure a continuous succession of highs and lows, of acceptances and rejections. And for struggling newcomers like me, who have not yet learned to take it all in our stride, it's a veritable roller-coaster ride for the emotions.

Publishers lead you on, encouraging you to spend endless hours editing and revising your work—and then lose interest. You actually sign a contract, only to have the publisher go out of business. It’s impossible—I’ll never get into print.

OK, don't give up, let's try some competitions. There are so many competitions to choose from—the field has opened up with online publishers and online magazines. This must be the way to go.

Short stories, yes, I can do that. Forget the award-winning novel. I rush to my computer, with ideas spinning round in my head. I am on a high now. After a few hours work, depression sets in, as the story just won't seem to come together as I want it. I take a break, go for a walk, and return refreshed. This time, it goes better - perhaps not great literature, but pretty good. I finish the story and just stop myself dashing round to the post straight away. Sleep on it, I’m told. Tomorrow I can wait no longer; the envelope is consigned to the mailbox slot with a kiss, drawing amused glances from passers-by. This is the first day of the rest of my life!

I try and forget it and get on with other things, but as the closing date comes and goes and the weeks go by, and I have heard nothing, my spirits sink lower and lower. Was it really no good after all, and I was deluding myself? Or perhaps the entries were of a particularly high standard. Maybe it was lost in the post. I can’t take this—I'll just give up writing.

At last, the familiar self-addressed envelope arrives. After so long, I am reluctant to open it, and put it off, finishing the household chores, before I can psych myself up for another disappointment. I slit the envelope and pull out the contents slowly. The usual waffle—'so many good entries'; 'hard to pick the winners'. I scan the names down from the top—1st, 2nd, 3rd, Highly Commended. And there it is—the last one on the list. I feel a rush of colour to my face, an adrenalin surge. It’s so exciting to see my name in print. And my work will be published in an anthology. I always knew I could do it! I forget all the bad moments I have had, all the self-doubts, all the despair. I hurry back to the Australian Writer's Marketplace to look for another competition to enter. Or perhaps I’ll try a magazine this time.

I just can't help myself, can I?

© Wendy Ogbourne