The dream that never was

Had a little bit of a breakdown today. I hadn’t expected something like that to happen. I had been at a store, just looking at a shelf of books, when, BOOM! It hit me. I started feeling very depressed and tears came to my eyes.

No, it wasn’t because of grief. Those episodes happen, yes, but it wasn’t because of grief.

This particular sadness was a result of me feeling all of the disappointment, pain, anger and frustration all over again – the things I felt after putting in 10 years of my life to make a dream come true, only to never have that dream come true.

My dream to become a famous author.

Now, my personal definition of “famous author” – the definition that matters – is getting my book published by a major publisher AND having the book available in stores AND people actually BUYING them, people actually READING them, people actually reviewing the book and, hey, maybe the book selling so well that it becomes a bestseller and is turned into a movie! My books are not on store shelves. With my books, they have to be special ordered. You have to ASK for them. They are not stocked on any shelves. They are not available in any stores.

And as I looked at all those books at the store I was at today, I knew they never would be. Well, maybe after I am dead and somebody finally cares enough to get them on the shelves. But probably not in this lifetime.

Maybe I did not go about it correctly. Maybe I should have kept trying to get an agent – a GOOD agent!!! Maybe I should have taken more writing workshops or focused on writing in ONE genre instead of several.

Regardless of what the reason for my never being a famous author were, the point is, I never got there. I never made it.

It would have been nice if I had achieved that degree of success, though. If only I had been able to make that dream come true. If only one of my books was picked up by, oh, I don’t know, maybe Random House or Penguin, and it became a bestseller and was turned into a movie and it was available in thousands of stores everywhere and people were buying it, reading it, telling their friends about it and leaving reviews of it on Amazon, or something. That would have really been nice indeed.

But it never happened. No matter what I did. And no matter for how long. This was a really Big Deal to me. This was really important. It was my dream.

And that dream never came true.

So as I was struggling with all of these emotions and feelings and the tears, struggling to stay on my feet and keep a brave face and act like nothing was wrong, one thought hit me: I am going to have to come to terms with this. I am going to have to make peace with that part of my past.

I had thought I already did. In the past, I had a good cry when I realized that I was not going to make it as an author. Nothing I did mattered. Readers didn't care about my books. I had thrown myself into promoting my books and gave my all for this for 10 whole years and nothing came out of that. I had nothing to show for it. I was so despondent over this that I even once contemplated suicide. I was THAT upset about it. But I decided to just change course with this whole "author" thing and go in another direction in life. I thought that if I focused on that enough, I would not be so upset about this failure. But apparently, I still was upset about it. I was still so heartbroken about it. But I knew I had to get to a point where I can continue on in life without this once again tearing me apart. 

So after I went home to lock myself in the bedroom and once again have a good cry about it, I realized I was going to have to let that go. This was just another thing in my life that I could not do. A dream that I could not make real.

Sure, I could try again. I could give it another go. But the fact is, I am on a new path in life. It is time for me to do other things. Those days as a writer and as an author are gone. They are over with. That is not my life anymore. I have to do other things now.

Sure, I write sometimes. This blog post is proof of that. But I no longer write professionally. I no longer write books to become some noteworthy or famous author. I no longer promote my work or try to get my stuff published anywhere. That is just not my thing anymore.

But sometimes I’ll be dabbling with one of the books I have going on. Writing is a hobby for me now. It’s not meant to be anything other than my own pursuit of a passion. Something that I just like to do.

And it’s still something that I WANT to do. Just not as often as before.

So I have to accept that that dream never came true. Sure, it makes me sad. And given what happened today, maybe I will have a good cry about it every once in a while – just like I have a good cry over the loss of my parents or how I don’t have a daughter anymore.

This has just become yet another sadness that I carry. This is a pain that will be with me for the rest of my life – right along with the other pains that I have. It is just another burden in life. It sucks, but it is what it is. Dawn Colclasure tried and failed to become a famous author. The End.

That goal right there – that plan. That had been my dream. And I could not make that dream come true. And now I just don’t believe in dreams anymore. Fuck dreams. That whole part of my life was just a waste of my time.