Pity Party

I'm not unlike most writers. I have dreams. I'd put my dreams on hold for so long, letting other people and things take precedence over what I wanted. But now that I've let myself sit down and write, and having a couple of novels under my belt, I've allowed myself to dream. Maybe I shouldn't. I'm one of those people who get their hopes up then when they're dashed I go through a few days of depression. The P.E.A.R.L. Awards is case in point. I'd let myself hope I'd make the short list. Yeah, yeah, I should be proud that I was nominated. I am. And I didn't expect to win the P.E.A.R.L. But I'd hoped to at least get to the voting stage. I didn't. I went to a chat last night where they announced the authors who would go on to this next step. I surprised myself with how much I wanted this. I mean, it's not the end of my writing career. It's not like the people who could nominate or even vote are the great multitude that reads all the paranormal books of the world. It's a "few" (I think the woman said 1,400 people nominated) people who belong to an online site. And these people e-mail back and forth getting to know each other over the year. I'd just learned about the group last month. Not many know me.

So now here I sit. Depressed when I should blow it off. Think I'll just go start another book.