“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”-Albert Camus
I have had a good writer day, and my cup is full. Overbrimming. An article that I wrote, on a topic I have been researching for some time, has been accepted by a journal. (It will be several months before it appears.) The editor said he found my piece “impressive, original and persuasive.”
The same day I received feedback from a beta reader who had agreed to look at my latest novel. She is not my friend, and does not have any reason to butter me up. “I loved it!” she wrote, “It was definitely a unique novel and the premise was something that I haven’t come across in any book that I’ve read before…With the twists and turns and different people involved it almost felt like a Shakespearean play!… I couldn’t put it down once I got started with it.”
I feel renewed.
Of course, nothing at all has actually changed. My journal article will not appear for quite some time. (The journal is a quarterly.) Although I hope it will help to give some credibility to the book proposal on which it is based, and which I am trying to sell, that is also in the future and it remains to be seen.
The reader’s praise does not make the novel closer to finding a publisher, nor do any of these pats on the back improve my financial situation one iota.
And yet. And yet.
The dedication to craft, the plodding, the rejection, the months when it seems as if no one will ever read your work again– it seems worth it.
Today I am Sisyphus, catching sight of the top of the mountain. The boulder will roll again– it always does. But today I am happy.