Today, six manuscripts languish on my laptop—two nonfiction books, two novels, and two picture books. My older children are now teens, and my youngest, the one I was pregnant with when I started this journey, a fourth grader. In the meantime, I’ve managed to forge a rewarding career as a freelance writer, editor, and teacher. My essays, articles, and book reviews have appeared in publications I could never have dreamed of writing for: The New York Times, The Washington Post, NPR, The Guardian, and NBC. Despite all this, I’m no closer to getting a book deal.

So after 16 years of writing books and 10 years of failing to find a publisher, why do I keep trying? I ask myself this every day.

* * *

My books have been living in my head for more than a decade. I have had tea with the characters, argued with them, and begged them to get over their hang-ups. While writing articles or teaching, I’m simultaneously rethinking passages or entire chapters of my books. A walk through the woods is an excuse for me to mull over how to tighten my prose, increase the suspense, flesh out a scene, or dig deeper emotionally. It’s a dual life, with one foot in reality and the other in the worlds of my stories.

Some of my resolve to get published stems from my ego. Aren’t my words important? Isn’t there something of value here? Wouldn’t this story bring joy or peace to a reader? Another part of me craves having a visceral connection to an audience; it’s isolating to keep these stories to myself, to experience them alone.

I’ve continued to endure the submission process—especially as I’ve grown more disillusioned—in large part because I have the financial means to do so. My spouse’s income and health insurance allow me to manage a chronic medical condition, co-parent three children, write, edit, and teach without needing to hold down an additional job. I can control how often I submit and work around other life obligations.

The truth is, my dedication to getting a book deal has been expensive. Each local writing conference costs about $250, and I’ve attended six. Over the decade, I’ve spent approximately $5,000 paying top-notch editors to carefully critique my work. My two-year, low-residency MFA program cost in the neighborhood of $26,000. Learning about the craft of writing and the business side of publishing can be an outrageously costly endeavor, one that not every writer can afford (or, necessarily, needs).

Over the years, I’ve come to accept the significant roles that luck and timing play in publishing success stories. Sometimes it’s a matter of sending a query at the exact moment an agent or editor is looking for a book about a particular issue. Sometimes it’s about winning a contest or writing an intriguing article or viral blog post that catches the eye of an editor. Indeed, several essays published in The New York Times’s Modern Love column have led to book deals.