On top of all that, I find it inspiring to sit in the midst of the stacks, surrounded by books. To imagine myself joining the ranks of published authors and to picture my book sitting in its place on a shelf.
Today something feels different. Maybe it is because I am quite tired, but today all these books just make me feel insignificant. How many of these books will I never read? How many will my eyes just pass right over on the shelf without a second thought? And if I were to ever clear the massive hurdle that is being published, what would make my book any different to everyone else? If I ever finish my debut novel, and if it gets accepted and published, what then? It will just be one more book on the shelf. A drop in the ocean, a grain of sand on the beach.
Still, I'm not going to give up. I just finished another chapter in novel 6, and I do in general feel good about it. And even a drop in a nameless stream can someday hope to be a drop in the ocean.
(On a mostly unrelated note, the above image is from Beautiful-Libraries.com, which is a pretty freaking awesome collection.)