The last few days have been one of those “adventures” where, first, you don’t realize you’re in for a ride until your ass is on some weird train, and second, you start off normal, go through a thousand emotions, and finish feeling battered, but vaguely relieved.

The context? I’m still editing.

Now that we’ve established the source of all my anguish, I’ll tell you what happened:

1. I’m still editing. Sorry for restating this, but, honestly, what the fuck.
2. I’m still on Twitter. Which is both a fountain of friendship, fun, and support, and an anxiety-inducing dark pit of sorrow.
3. Other people keep landing agents, book deals, TV and film deals, and I… I’m still editing.
4. I never cared about agents, book deals, TV and film deals, but now I do, because Twitter tells me about them nonstop.
5. And I’m still editing. And I still can’t query. And I still feel alone, lost, uncertain, and quite annoyed by caring this much because I didn’t use to do so.

I know I’m making no sense. Please appreciate the trip to the depths of my brain.

Now, I said I went on a ride. So what was I talking about?

Before allowing my perceived shortcomings to make me cry a little,

1. I realized it is okay to be stuck. That’s where I am. I’m doing my best. I’ll eventually get out of the editing mines. Fuck the rest.
2. I learned that supporting those who are winning while I’m still struggling isn’t pathetic; that it actually makes me feel envigored and positive.
3. I finally overcame my own emotions and forgave myself for being slower than other writers. I finally stopped asking myself if everyone is better than me, and instead told myself to quit wasting time on impossible questions that didn’t matter because, in the end, I write because I enjoy writing.
4. And in doing so, I rediscovered my love of creating stories. My love of typing away without considering whether others will love my books as well.
5. Also, I decided to take an extended Twitter semi-hiatus, meaning I won’t actively use the website and will only reply to DMs and any mentions I might get. I’m doing this to protect my mental health, to forget about the noise and focus on my words.

And that’s it, friends. I just wanted to post this here so I can come back and read it whenever Twitter gets to my head again.

I’m on my own path. And I will find my way to whatever end, but what matters right now is to love my stories, to enjoy the work, to improve my craft.