No one cares about your dreams.
Harsh but true.
Your nurturing parents don’t care you aspire to be a published author; they want a secure future for you. Financial stability, a caring partner, have all your basic human needs met. Friends are concerned about comradery, a mutual exchange of feelings, good times. Girlfriends want stability. Know you’re faithful, reliable, compassionate through life changing events.
Though they genuinely care about you, those you value do not give a shit if your book populates major retailer shelves. And why should they? Assuming you’re a happy, well-adjusted person in good health. That is all those who care about are concerned with – as they should be.
Calm down, I know your boyfriend will do anything for you; I’m sure he claims you have his heart and soul during pillow talk time. To him, you are perfect already. Presumably that’s why he’s in your life. Writing is but a facet of your persona, arguably not the most important one.
Now that we’ve agreed no one truly cares about your dream, let me be your biggest cheerleader for a moment.
YOU, squinting at your smartphone, cleaning the thumb prints from your tablet, have to accept writing is only import to you. Look only to yourself for motivation. Manipulate the dream into an obsession. Wake every day with the frightening desire to write. Time is running out.
Because, the truth of it is, the dream of being a published author is not something shared with those you love, with those who love you. They will support you, but drop the pursuit tomorrow and see how consoling they become when what you really need is a kick in the ass followed by a few uplifting words.