I considered my writing to be a little bit more than a hobby, yet not exactly a career. Sure, I wanted to be good at it and I worked hard at being good at it but I never thought I worked harder than say, a person who works on his car on the weekends. Or someone who works hard at a local dinner theater. I write because it’s something I enjoy doing and if I succeed at it or make money off it, all the better.
There are times when I work hard to get something published, it never happens, but I try. I have gone the self-publishing route but really, I don’t have the time to promote my work as I should. Maybe if I quit my job and worked at it full time I could get some publishing deals, but the truth is I’m not really brave enough to just go off and do something like that.
I missed some chances when I was unemployed but to be honest I was more worried about getting a job than publishing anything. Besides, all I had was one short novel that was good, but not great. I did send it to places, heck I still send it places every once in a while, but so far no one has touched it. I can’t blame them, I’m not a popular name and agents and publishers want people who can make them money. I might be able to make them money but who’s going to take that chance? If I were an agent or a publisher I don’t think I’d buy my novels. The writings good, but not strong. Why spend money publishing something that only a few people might buy? Agents and publishers tell you they like to take chances on new writers but the odd are I won’t be one of them. That’s not putting myself down, that’s an honest truth.
It sounds like I’m giving up or I’m a pessimist. Trust me, most people around me think I’m too optimistic about things. I guess when you’re a realist about things that automatically makes it sound pessimistic. I have hope that if I keep sending my stuff out someone will bite. It will probably never happen but I have hope.
I know my work and it’s good. I like my work. I read stuff that I’ve written years ago and I like it. I can see its flaws of course but I see flaws in most of the stuff I read. Are my flaws any worst? Maybe but until a professional reads my work I’ll never know. Of course, the only way to get a pro to read my work is to get published. Or pay a lot of money. I don’t have a lot of money so I’ll have to wait for a pro to buy my stuff. Which probably won’t ever happen.
When I spend an hour or so writing something I stop and wonder why I’m doing it. Who am I writing for? I want to write for people other than me and a handful of people who might listen to my podcasted writings at podiobooks.com. The truth is, I’m not sure who I’m writing for anymore. In my 20’s and 30’s I wrote to try to get published. I wrote to tell people I did something that was interesting. I wrote because it was a release from a life that, while not horrible, had a bunch of holes that needed to be filled. I wrote because my imagination was so large it needed an outlet. I haven’t felt the need to fill any holes in my soul for a while. I wrote the Arwen saga because I had an idea that wouldn’t go away. Now that that saga is done and I have nothing else to say I wonder why I still write.
I’m working on another novel and my heart isn’t really in it. Could it be because the novel isn’t good enough to hold my interest or is it something more? Have I finally gotten sick of spending the limited hours I have in the day writing something that no one will read? Has my mind finally stopped supplying me with ideas? Have I gotten to the point in my life where I don’t need to write anymore? Or, do I simply need to sit back and relax and not worry about all those things?
