In my first few years of writing I absolutely believed that, no matter how hard I worked or how much I studied or how many hours I sat practicing my craft, that there was no way in Hades I would ever get published.
I also believed with equal force and determination, that if I just kept at it long enough, I would absolutely land a traditional publishing deal.
This was not merely the result of sleep deprivation or schizophrenia. Nor was it some parlor trick or trendy pop psychology technique I borrowed to keep myself motivated.
I actually believed these equal and opposing ideas simultaneously. Fully. And with all my heart.
And you know what? It took the pressure off.
If publishing obscurity were a foregone conclusion, and no one (who didn’t already know me personally) was ever going to read my stuff, why get all exorcised about trying to please some editor I would likely never meet? I could just write for the love of it, for the fun of it, to simply amuse myself.
Equally, if I were already predestined to sign a publishing deal, why sweat the details? Just finish it, mail it off, and wait to sign the deal.
Granted, this is not very scientific. (Or maybe it is?) And it’s quite possible it only works on people with some sort of dysfunction or mental deficiency. Either way, it worked for me so I thought I’d share.