It’s been a slog this weekend. Today will be day 5 of 6 days in a row at the holiday job. It’s a shorter shift, only 4 hours, but right during my ‘prime’ writing time.
Which means, of course, I woke up wanting to write.
While I’m a writer, I think that creative people of ANY kind are among the most self-critical, self-loathing, and have (actually) some of the most fragile/small egos of any other career path I’ve met. We’re constantly fighting the battle against ourselves for perfection. My readers may love each and every word and wait for the next book with baited breath, but I’m still not sure if what I’m doing is worth such praise.
Yet I strive for that validation that a rave review brings. The knowledge that someone bought my book and enjoyed it. That I put this part of me out into the world for all to see and I’m not being ridiculed as I was as a child.
A co-worker asked how sales were. To be blunt, they suck. I’d love it if I’d reached 100 books sold by now. I’m at maybe half that number. Near as I can tell, November was a bust for sales and December (I know, the month is still young) isn’t indicating that people are snatching up copies to give as gifts.
Yet I keep writing, and I do whatever I can to keep the negative voices in my head muffled. I have the memory of knowing I’ve made my daughters proud of me, had them brag about me. And I often replay telling my friends I had received a contract offer in my head. Regardless of if I ever get another book published, or any of them garner enough in royalties to help with the groceries one month, I have done something many from my childhood felt was beyond me.
That’ll shut up the voices I shouldn’t listen to for a while.
Oh! Almost forgot! I’m guest blogging on a couple of sites TOMORROW! I’ll swing by here and provide links once things are up.