One day I'm going to find out that people have actually been reading my blog, and boy am I going to be embarrassed! As long as I pretty much think that I'm talking to myself I can say anything I want. After all, cyberspace isn't judgmental. Heck cyberspace doesn't have time to be judgmental. It's too busy directing traffic.
I've been thinking lately about the evils of wanting to be someone else. Or even wanting to be like someone else. It's no secret that I want to be like certain other writers who work with a certain editor who I'm completely in awe of. That editor is a star maker, and damn if I don't want to be a star.
But I have an editor. In fact, considering the number of writers who are never published, I'm dang lucky to have an editor. She took a chance on me when no one else would, including the star maker. So here I sit, wishing I were someone other than who I am. At the very least someone who has the time to both write and market effectively. And somewhere else someone else is wishing they were me. Wishing that at the very least someone would take a chance on them.
The truth is that we are all in the cycle somewhere. And although logic tells me we can't all be stars, I can't help but think that my time will come. My star will rise. Wishful thinking? Maybe. But it's the belief that it's possible to obtain our goals that keeps me trying. Keeps me juggling the writing with the marketing with the kids with the husband with the dogs. Because I want it all, and no one has been able to convince me that I can't have it.