If it doesn't hurt, if it doesn't scrape you raw, if it doesn't make something in you bleed, if your honesty doesn't scare the sleep from your eyes, if the truth you deliver in all of its messy authenticity doesn't breathe down the back of your neck, then you may need to push harder. Dig deeper. Stand in the mess, in the beauty, in the singular heart-break and hope that is your vision and stop listening to those who say it isn't.
You know that woman you mentioned who recently got the book deal—the one you describe as among your best friends? She knows you’re not truly happy for her. She knows it even if she’s convinced herself that she doesn’t know it; even if she’s tried to explain away whatever weird vibe you emitted when you pretended to be happy for her about her good news. She knows because you can’t fake love and generosity of spirit. It’s either there or it isn’t. The fact that when someone you profess to care deeply about shared with you something excellent that happened to her you had to fake your joy sucks way more than the fact that you haven’t yet gotten the five or six figure book deal you’re so convinced you deserve. And if you want to have a real, true, deep, authentic, satisfying, kickass, righteous life, I advise you to get that shit straightened out first.