I’m with you. Like you I’m waiting for my breakthrough.
Out of frustration and out of inspiration I write here.
First, because even when literary journals or magazines have rejected my works, I refuse to believe that my writing isn’t worth publishing. Second, because Etty Hillesum, a not-so-well-known writer died too young and with her died her dream of becoming an established author. (Eight of her diaries were published in one book, but that doesn’t mean that’s all the writing she had to offer the world.)
I can’t let others write my story. Not anymore. To be honest, I don’t even know that my story is being told.
It has become too dangerous to wait until literary journals or magazines give my work approval. I can assure you that my story like your story is the story someone else is looking for right at this moment.
Lately, I’ve been writing with a combination of more urgency, more purpose, and more transparency.