The writing industry. It's like a fluffy parasite.

Sometimes I ask myself why on earth I've chosen to be a writer. But I never chose anything. I never decided as a kid to have stories manifest in my head. I never chose to see the characters as actual people. Writing has never been a choice; it's always been a necessity, a way to harness my overactive imagination. When I was young and now.

There are those moments when I don't like being a writer. What I hate most about it is that everybody is a writer now. Everybody writes books. Everybody's trying to be published. But not everybody is serious about it. A lot of other people have other plans for their life; they have plan B's. I don't know what a plan B is. All I have going for me is my writing. I don't just want to be published. I don't just want people to read my books, to hear my characters' voices, to see the worlds I've created and the lives I've engendered.

I need that. I feel like the longer I go without representation, the longer I must starve for air. Do other non-published writers feel this way? Do other published authors feel this way? I don't know. Maybe I'm just crazy.

But honestly the thing is--how do you pick through the serious writers from the not-so-serious ones? What if I fall under the category of a casual wannabe instead of the real thing? Is that why rejections are so prominent in my life--because agents pick up on that? I don't want them to see that in me. I want them to see that I'm not just a silly young adult trying to get famous like Stephenie Meyer. I'm a silly young adult with a story to tell. And I want people to read it. I want everyone to read it.

This is where the whole scary industry comes in. The fluffy parasite. Fluffy because it seems harmless and easy. "Twilight? I can write a book like that. I can write a book better than that. I can write a YA romance and get it published."

Yes, write a book. Invest time in creating your characters and developing a plot. It's tough work, but it's the easy part. The parasite is the part where you're sending it out. It has entered the world, agents don't like your plot, they don't like your writing, they reject you over and over. Then you find the gem, the agent who likes what you've written (which has yet to happen to me; I'm still waiting), and they send it to editors who tear it apart and alter what they want. You trust them, obviously, because they know better than you do.

But the writing industry is a ruthless world. It's not easy. You can't just write a book and want it to be published. You have to persevere, you have to work, and it's hard. It's hard to maintain confidence after being rejected by someone you were sure was looking for your story. It's hard to keep going when you just want to stop forever. It's hard to read, "Dear Author, I will pass..." for the fiftieth time.

And yet some of us are stupid enough to keep trying, even when silly young adults like me have no place in the writing world. It's just that the parasite is so fluffy and cute, I don't want to put it down.

I've fallen in love.