Miranda, really I think the issue for me has been my desire to be a genius. I’m not sure if I’ve always felt this way, or only since my brother’s IQ was tested and my mother started referring to him as a “genius” (we had HORRID sibling rivalry growing up, and I always felt she favored him. In fact, when I found out my IQ was the same as his – low 130′s – I felt both vindicated and gypped). There we go with the deep dark family skeletons! Anyway, it is all part of learning to love myself as I am.

Then again, given Brittany’s input, maybe it is just a writer-ego thing. I am so glad you finished your novel with the “water torture” method – that really gives me hope!

Ever since I was in school, I’ve been identified as “the writer”. Teachers have always waxed poetic about my talent. My friends and family all fully expect me to be published the second my novel hits the slush pile. If anything in my life has felt pre-ordained, it is this.

I dread the rejections that I know are coming. I try to steel myself against them as much as I possibly can. I know that it’s not going to be a walk in the park–and that it’s not supposed to be–because if I were to achieve success, it would be meaningless, since everyone else and their dog would be published too.

But at the same time, I do feel a sense of urgency. I’m 31. And I’m just getting started. Oh sure, I’ve had a poem and a short story published in a campus literary magazine. And three different plays I’ve written have won three different awards. It’s not like I haven’t been writing. But I really thought I would have more by now–it takes such an infernally long time to write anything anymore–what with my responsibilities to my husband and children–that I can’t even contemplate what it would mean to be prolific. I hate writing at this snail’s pace. It seems so horribly unfair. It’s like Chinese water torture… drop drop drop drop drop drop drop drop drop until I want to scream.

But the little drops do add up, and by some miracle, I finished a novel despite every imaginable obstacle, so maybe something good will come of it. Or at least that’s what I hope.

I too had thoughts of early greatness–surely I would publish a novel before 30. But by the age of 27 I had three kids and life had taken over. As the new decade came, I pretended I wasn’t really ignoring my longstanding goal. Now I’m looking at 40, and honestly, I’m not that much closer to publishing a novel. When you look at it that way–well, ouch.

On the other hand, I always figured I wouldn’t have anything terribly brilliant to say until 40 anyway (as your author acquaintance advised you). But still, I figured I would publish something early on the basis of wit and charm anyway. It wasn’t to be.

I think you’re quite right: there is no inherent advantage in being a wunderkind. You can probably let that go, without much regret. Maybe it isn’t lowering the bar, but rather breathing in deeply and looking around at the resources at your disposal–as well as all the other commitments that mean you can’t ship off to the Vermont Studio Center for a month-long writing retreat.

The more important thing is that you are working toward something solid and meaningful. You’ve been paying your dues. It’s that old “trust the process” thing, which sounds great until one day you want to smack the next person who tells you it will all work out. But it will. It will because it has to.

In the wise words of Dory, “Just keep swimming; just keep swimming….”