Dear Graelwyn
I know exactly how you feel. I'm a write, and nothing I write seems to be good enough. I've rewritten my things over a dozen times, sometimes lengthening, sometimes shortening. I tried once to sell it, to an agent. It was a pinpointed laser targeted shot, and even then, I was rejected. Sometimes I think the writing is the fun part. But, without publishing it, what is it good for?
I started writing shortly after an incident that stopped me from singing. I used to be the best at singing. But, I fell in love with my music teacher, whom I was very good friends with, and wound up kissing her. I know it sounds so simple, but simple can also be silencing. I just recently gave up my inner secret, that I never wanted to let her go in the first place. Imagine, wasting five years of a therapists time just because you can't let go of a memory. But, the drama I derive from it seems to push me on. I have no one but myself to blame for the incident, and despite my parent's reaction at the time, and explanations galore, I still blame myself for the incident. I'm sure I poisoned a christmas for her, but I'll bear that cross for the rest of my life.
Singing is one of my gifts also, though I have not trained in a long time and again, as with writing, it is nigh on impossible to make any sort of living from it. You have to be lucky or the best to get anywhere in these things.