Stuff’s going on. Stuff I don’t want to talk about yet, but I will soon. It’s good stuff, mostly, but I manage to worry about stuff anyway, even if it’s good stuff.
As far as my writing goes—brutal honesty time—I’m pretty annoyed with the whole deal. Here’s what I’ve discovered (I’m not trying to bust anybody’s bubble, I’m just expressing reality as I see it), it’s extremely hard to make any money at this gig. Self-publishing is not a gold mine, by any stretch. It’s not even a penny mine.
Let me back up and clarify. If you have a life, or want to have a life outside of writing, don’t expect to make any money at self-publishing in the near term. Based on my observation, to see financial returns, self-publishing has to be a full time gig. Or it has to consume every waking (and perhaps sleeping) moment that you are not otherwise, feeding your kids, eating, or working at your real job.
Notice how I didn’t include spending time with your kids, or your husband for that matter. (What’s his name again?)
No. Forget it. I’m not cut out for the hamster wheel.
I still enjoy writing and crafting stories. In fact, that’s the one thing I do enjoy about the writing life. Marketing? Uh no. I do not enjoy pimping myself. Not in the slightest. I can pretend for a while, and then I just get grumpy. It’s not that I don’t like people. In fact, I do like people. That’s why I don’t like bugging them.
“I know you’re insanely busy and about 100 other self-published authors just pimped their book to you this morning on Twitter, but please, oh please consider, maybe maybe reading my book too…”
Call me bitter. Okay, I’ll wear that label. I’m not bitter about writing stories. That’s still quite fun. Sharing those stories with others is awesome. Twisting people’s arms to read my stories? Not so much.
What it all boils down to is this: I have to write on my terms. How I want and when I want. That’s the reason I started my own small press in the first place. It’s both amazing and scary how one can lose track in the sea advice. Five minutes after resolving to approach this writing gig on my terms, some marketing guru has convinced me that not only am I doing it wrong, but I’m not doing enough.
“10 Things You Must Do…!”
“Why You Should Always…!”
“5 Ways to Improve!”
Brutal honesty. That’s what this is. A wordy illustration of my broken dreams–shattered into little bits and then shattered some more and then ground into wafting dust that is now swirling about my head and making me stuffy.
Ahh…Aren’t sneezes satisfying? Cathartic. Freeing.
Welp. Time to wrap this up. I have stuff to do, including a novel to finish.