Tuesday, March 18, 2014

At what point ...?

It's not a great week by any means and weeks like this have become way too common in my life. And yet I'm still not used to this?
Therein lies the insanity.
I am still smacking my head into the same brick walls that I was five years ago.

My question is ... when do you call time on a dream?

Despite everything I've done, not enough has changed. It feels like I'm losing ground again. I shouldn't be, not now, not at this stage. But I am.

Doing something you love for the love of doing it ... is all very well and good but it doesn't pay bills or provide any sort of security or life.

There are ten books on my shelf that I've written. Ten. (Another one will join them in June.) There are another four that I was asked to contribute to. That's pretty much 4.2 years work sitting on my shelf.
And yet I remain a secret?
How is that even possible?
I'm not a quiet person who shrinks into the background ... that's never been me.
But it feels like I'm invisible a lot of the time.
Shouldn't? But it does.
If output equaled success I'd be doing okay.
Sadly it doesn't.
What's lacking is the reader base and the ability to tap into it.
Also, lacking is someone to talk to that understands this industry and gets how fucking frustrating it is ALL THE TIME.
Let me clarify that - I need to talk to someone that is NOT self-published and NOT with a big house. Someone like me - with a small publisher and with the same issues trying to get their books into stores and get noticed.
Throw money at it, only works when you are in a position to do that.

Kinda feels like I'm ranting.
I'm not.
I am trying to figure out what comes next.
I've been lucky to be able to write full-time but it's not giving back like it should and it's wearing me down.
The last two years have been really fucking hard both career wise and personally.
I can't imagine a life in which writing isn't what I do and who I am ... but right now, it's adding to the stress instead of helping relieve it.
(Well, not the process of writing - that still makes me stupidly happy - I just wish I could write faster.)
It's everything else involved that makes me miserable because I'm not getting anywhere.

Maybe there is an answer there, it's just not one I want?
Doing this by myself is too hard.
It's also fucking lonely.

Meanwhile:


















yeah right.







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