November 22, 2013 11:49 am EST
Publishing my first book was tough. At the time it seemed a gargantuan task. Writing the final in a series of seven poems, divinely inspired, suggesting a path to awakening, a path of enlightenment, required me to grow beyond the person I was to the person I felt I was destined to be.
But writing book number eleven might be even more difficult. Dashed expectations, bruised hopes. I had dreamed of only one thing, above all others, to become a successful full-time writer. Ten books and ten years later and I’m still not there. I’ve sold perhaps 200 books, given away over 2,000. Lots of people have read my poetry, my blog posts, and my inspirational books. I’ve heard many times how I’ve touched people with my words. That’s somewhat heartening. But financially, from a business perspective, my writing career has been a total failure. Thousands of hours spent writing and publishing for a return of maybe $200. Pennies per hour.
Success remains elusive. Doubts creep. My heart grows heavy in the task, the chore of writing. Oh, to return to the simple and naïve me that wrote for the simple joy of writing. A few years back, for several years, I wrote hundreds of poems each year, several poems every day. But doubt and disappointment has robbed me of the simple bliss of a simple poem.
I have a calling. I have a great gift. I am an exceptionally talented writer. I pray for the strength to continue, and for a return to the simple dream: to write, to share, to change the world.