I would like to preface this portal by pointing out that I myself am an optimist.  Pessimists argue we would spare ourselves disappointment if we kept our hopes low.  I’ve never been able to do that, and I don’t believe it would do me any good.  I think I would have given up long ago in my writing career if I couldn’t get excited about my next “maybes”.  Maybe my next idea will turn out to be a great novel; or maybe this next person I query will want to read my book, maybe they will be THE ONE!  (Finding the right people to love my books is a lot like match-making; way harder than finding my husband).  Anticipation in itself keeps me going.  Given my perspective, you may choose to believe my sixteen-year-old self was mocking pessimists in this filk of South Pacific’s “Cock-Eyed Optimist”.  In all honesty, I was rather fond of Eeyore the donkey and Puddleglum the Marshwiggle.  I thought it only fair that they have their own version of the song:

When the sky has a dark and stormy feel,

I forget every rainbow that shines through.

So they call me a cross-eyed pessimist,

Mature and incurably blue.

I have heard people laugh and cheer and squeal

That we’re carefree and might as well be kings,

But I’m only a cross-eyed pessimist

And I just can’t imagine such things.

I hear the human race dwells in a perfect place,

A spinning ball of paradise,

But every belching mill is selling me a bill

And telling me it ain’t so nice.

I could say life is one big happy meal

And appear more agreeable and light,

But I’m heavy as lead

With the thing called dread

And I can’t get it out of my sight.