Everyone seems to think that getting a publishing deal is a writer’s happy ending. After my 1st contract, I would love to hit anyone who believes that. Not to be mean, just in the hopes that I can knock some sense into them. It’ll hurt less than what comes after.
Things went well enough with my 1st book My Family Is Different (which was in children’s) that I figured getting to your book release was the happy ending. Now I want to hit myself, because my 2nd book didn’t do as well. (It was a cheesy Paranormal Romance Novelette, Tale of Two Bookends, that just helped me figure our the publishing industry better, but really.)
Now it’s the day before the release of my 3rd book, By the Stars, and waiting to see if it sells, if it’s well received, and if we get enough press is pure torture. It never ends.
I was joking with my husband yesterday that writers don’t get happy endings. We can be happy, I love my life; and all things end (even contracts) but that stupid fairy tale bullshit about making it big is a joke.
Even if I sell a million copies tomorrow (not very likely) there’s still the issues that come with that kind of responsibility. The people who are already asking favors of you, the readers you feel a responsibility to, the next book you have to write or you feel like a failure, trying not to doubt yourself at events and readings.
Real writers, people who work their asses off in this industry, have to play a tough gig. (Sorry, used to be a musician so I compare the two often) The whole write a book and sell a million copies overnight dream is such a joke.
I can’t wait for tomorrow. Even if nothing sells or I get a shit ton of horrible reviews, I worked my ass off to get my novella here. Book 2 was so hard on me I’m spending this month sober because I had to write it drunk. (And with this one, it was the most drunk I’ve even had to be to get through the emotional B.S. that goes on in the story)
If I hadn’t have promised my eldest daughter that I would never smoke again for the rest of my life, I’d be chain smoking a pack of cigs right now. But I don’t take promises lightly, so I’m not. Nor will I ever smoke again.
Thank the GODS that I have my guitar! She’s been carrying me through this week. I’ve been remembering old tunes and playing a multitude of melodies to keep from losing it.
Patience may be one of the most difficult aspects of being a writer. We create and wait, create and wait. And more often than not it doesn’t even pan out. A lot of stories just aren’t there. That’s why we have to write so much. Some stories resonate well, but most barley get a chance at life.
I buried my first novel because it was terrible. By the Stars will get to breathe tomorrow and it is up to you to determine its lifespan.