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Let’s face it: trying to get a book published is hard. Anyone who’s ever tried knows that. There’s rejection after rejection; crushed hope after crushed hope. We console ourselves with stories of the greats who were rejected again and again only to eventually succeed, trying to convince ourselves that all we need is time.

And for many, that’s where it ends. They get that yes, and the rest is history. But sometimes, it’s not so easy. Sometimes, the weeks turn into months. The months into years. And the old excuses — you haven’t the right agent, you’re not querying right, maybe they’re not even reading your manuscript — begin to ring hollow. You wonder if perhaps it’s not them. Perhaps it’s you. Perhaps this beautiful, incredible work you’ve poured your life into just isn’t as good as you thought it was.

Perhaps it’s time to let it go.

If this sounds like you, you should know you’re not alone. Sacrilegious as it may sound, writers who once poured their heart and soul into a manuscript do sometimes walk away. Which begs the question: how do you know when to keep fighting and when to admit defeat?

I’d like to share my thoughts on that question — by telling you a little about my experience with trying to get my book published.

A little under two years ago, I finished my first book — a mid-sized comic fantasy I’d written in about eight months. I was over the moon, naturally. I eagerly, anxiously sent it out to agents, certain the requests would roll in.

It didn’t quite work out that way.

I’ve written in the past about that experience — about the effect it had on me, on how I came to realize that I was letting those rejections take over my life. On how I ultimately decided that the only conclusion I should draw from those rejections was that I needed to soldier on and keep fighting.

But there was more to the story than that. See, when I started writing that comic fantasy, I thought it was hilarious. I remember laughing to myself as I wrote it; I remember strangers subtly shifting away from me on the train as I giggled quietly to myself like some Bond villain.

But then, somewhere between the 20th and 30th edit, something changed. I stopped laughing. Stopped even smiling. The jokes I once thought hilarious had become old and tired — even annoying. This was to be expected, I told myself. There’s only so many times you can hear the same joke before you stop laughing. I just needed to give myself space.

So I did. I gave myself a week — then two, then four. It didn’t help. Those laughs never came back. And I was forced to confront a question no writer ever wants to confront: Was my book unfit for publishing?

Ultimately, I decided to try anyway. I’d poured so much effort into it — it seemed a shame to just throw it all away. One way or another, I vowed, I’d get it out there. If not through traditional publishing, then through self-publishing.

Until the day I changed my mind.

Months had passed. The rejections had poured in, though I’d gotten some requests along the way, too. I was at work, talking with a co-worker, when he repeated a phrase to me he’d heard from someone else:

“Never cling to a mistake just because you spent a lot of time making it.”

I took a step back that day. Forced myself to forget how long it took me to write the book. Forced myself to forget whatever vision I’d had back when it first started. And to answer — for once, honestly, objectively answer — did this book deserve to be published? Did I believe in it, even if no one else did? The answer, I found, was that I didn’t know. Which was answer enough.

It took me eight months to write that book. It took me another five to find the courage to let it go.

Why am I telling you this? Because since then, I’ve finished a different book. I spent far, far longer on it than I did the last once. I edited it hundreds of times. And here’s the funny thing. When I think back to the feelings I had when I was writing it — the excitement, the passion, that inexplicable feeling of rightness — I remember them with crystal clarity.

Because they’re the same feelings I have today, when I read it for maybe the 300th time.

I started this article by asking how to tell when it’s time to fight and when it’s time to throw in the towel. Because yes, you can fight. Even if your book isn’t as good as you’d hoped, there’s a lot you can do about it that doesn’t involve giving up. You can find an editor. You can find a critique group. You can explore alternative publishing methods. There are so many options out there for writers these days — if you’re willing to fight for them.

For that, though — for that you need to believe. You need to believe that this story is worth it. And if you do, then never give up. I don’t know of a truer measure of a book’s worth than that belief. It’s the reason why I know that, even though I’ve barely begun submitting my new book to agents, I’m going to fight for it no matter how much it takes.

But if you’ve lost that belief — if you no longer feel that this book deserves to be out there in the world — then yeah. Maybe it’s time to let it go.