Mes amies, did you know I’m a genius? Yes, by age 4 -- no, it was age 3-- I was writing short stories and had started working on my first novel, and by age 5 getting published in most major literary magazines. When English class came, I taught the teacher. Oh-ho, yeah. When I was 13, I queried one agent and got her, and then four days later, a 7-figure publishing deal. When I was 14, my first novel was published, but I didn’t become a bestseller until the old age of 17 (horrors, I know, I’m hideously embarrassed about that). Basically, I've done everything sooner than you have, with more cleverness, and it took me no time at all while you’ve been toiling for YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS and you still can’t get your %&$#@ing query right.
Actually, none of the above is true. And we congratulate those talented youngsters who are setting the world aflame -- and those incredibly clever people who twist words in such a way that you CRY when you read them because they’ve moved you so. Really. Those people are awesome and amazing and will change everything.
But most of us are not them. And you mustn't feel bad when they wave to you from the fast lane, while you’re still honing and honing and honing and your fingers are bleeding because of all that honing. Just keep on honing because you’re good too, just in a different way.
Look at it this way. You can either look at the luminaries from far, far away, from the basement where you sit, having not tried and having instead given up. Or you can join them on your own terms according to your utter normalcy.
I know what I chose.