Rejection felt as costly as doubt. Whereas doubt arose from within our thoughts, rejection was an infliction from outside of our control. Doubt was just an imagined worst outcome, but rejection felt so final. However, both felt it could cause one to the other. Push.
A fool cares for neither doubt nor rejections. He kept on going, oddly enough just as winners and champions. Was I a fool for literature if I was rejected by many? Or was I made like a champion with an unflinching faith as if I was made to write. Push.
What kept a writer to write other than hope after rejection and full of doubt? It has got to be faith and belief, for a voice original to society and mankind. Humanity held under the table as if a gun to an enemy. It could spark and fire at any moment. Push.
Fires and sparks were the elements they wanted as readers, yet there was no telling if I had ever caused any. Perhaps some kind of miracle could happen to me, turning me into a literary fairy, writing words of wisdom to children and adults that ripples throughout the world. Push.
No matter a fool or champion, my faith in stories and words won't harm none. It was a method to play, create, heal, and hope for, of which my mind could rest upon. Push.
Rejection or doubt, even worry or hopelessness could be erased with every effort I placed. Publishing or not, and making or not, even if it was just this blog, push. Until it ends.