I remember the day I decided not to quit writing.
It’s funny you should bring this up because I think it relates a lot to the conversation about being “broken” (which I put in quotes because I don’t like that word, nor do I want to give it any power. I actually started a post of my own about how I think language – but particularly labels – have power over us if we let them, but that’s OT and for another day.)
The day I decided not to quit came at a similar place. I had an agent, my book was being shopped around , and I was struggling to write another novel… or anything. A few days after hearing that my novel, which was loved by a junior editor, had been rejected by the senior, I hit bottom. I just didn’t know if I could take the roller coaster ride any more.
Also, at the time, no one that I _really_ knew had ever done it – gone over the transom. I started to disbelieve it was even possible to rise up from the ranks, as it were. It all seemed like a fairy tale that happened to Other people.
Like you, I realized there really wasn’t anything for it. I couldn’t not write.
Of course, I nearly hit bottom again here at the beginning of my career, but that was after I’d suffered an intense personal loss and I was so NOT going to let the bastards win. Not the same moment at all. Besides, that latter moment wasn’t about me choosing not to write any more, but about refusing to let my writing career die on the vine.