This is the hard place, dear one. This is the place where the answer to your quest is no.
Sometimes the no finds us at the outset, when we're discerning whether to pursue the book or not. We take a long, real look at the questions and realities and determine that the path we thought we had in us to walk is not actually for us after all.
Other times it happens in the middle. Here, we've struck out on that path. We've set aside the hours and effort to walk it. We've toiled and toiled away. And then, either one day or in a slow realization that comes after many days, we realize this path isn't for us like we thought. We just don't want to do it anymore. And so we stop.
And then there are the times it happens at the end, when we've written all the words, given it all of our heart, done the best we could do, and there's nothing more ahead for what we've created. The work just won't find a home. We keep knocking on doors at the end of the path, but none of them open.
I want you to receive this word, dear writer, if you land in this place that is no: The process of getting here was gift. It meant something. It mattered.
You learned. You gave yourself to something, no matter how long or short was the giving, and that, in itself, is beautiful.
The shining light at the end of the writer's path — the eventual yes others reach but you may not — is not the only thing of value here. It's not what determines your worth or the worth of the effort.
The whole of it is worthy. As are you.