I don't know what's trending. I'm an urban fantasy author, that's just what I plan to write. Hopefully it stays popular. I don't know what or how or where to promote, but I'll try as much as I can. Not because it does wonders for your sales--because, if you're a new writer, it does not do much at all, but it makes you familiar. Shows you're in it for the long haul.
I'm here. I'm not planning on going anywhere, and I plan to write as well as I possibly can, every time I publish something. That's just who I want to be.
Now, enough of my wandering thoughts, how have you been? I've been going crazy with promoting, talking with my publisher on the newest, hippest ways to promote--I know none of them--and just thinking about Gladys. I'm so lucky to have friends. The other day, I was able to talk through a plot problem with one of my friends, which was a huge help.
It's funny. So many writers have to work through these big emotional hurdles somewhat publicly, asking people is this normal? Why is this so hard? Others are of the mindset of "You're doing what you love so quit bitching about it."
In case you ever wonder which camp I'm in, look to the former. I love my job. I love writing a dream into reality, feeling a wind that's not there and never was, blowing against my face, catching at my hair--plunging into the water and breathing in and not dying. Love, love, love, love, love it.
That's why I take the long hours, the small pay, the months of work without knowing if it will pay off, and the emotional hurdles. Sometimes you can be in the middle of writing something that feels good and the bottom just drops out on you. You look for the chapter before and the chapter after, only you can't find solid ground--instead, you're treading water, hoping for something to latch onto so that all of that hard work isn't for not. And it doesn't just last for a few minutes, or a few hours. There are times where it can last for days. Times where you write three thousand words, and viciously delete them all because they're not the right words. That is what writer's block looks like. Thousands of words of crap you'd never put in your book because you can't stand looking at them on the page.
That is why, when people in the camp of "quit bitching" say something, I bristle. I feel how I feel, and I don't ever have to justify whether I have the right to feel it. I don't often bitch in public, but if I do, I definitely won't feel bad about it. That's just part of the process.
Luckily, there's this in between--this break from melting down in a public form, and locking it all inside until you look like a twitchy maniac who shouldn't be trusted with a butter knife--and that, my dears, is where friends come in. They wipe your metaphorical mascara, tell you that you make overalls and a mullet look really, really good, and in general just keep rubbing calming circles over your back until you finally realize that the water beneath you isn't endless. You're not treading the middle of the ocean, you're standing on a sandbar, and that harsh whistle you're hearing is the lifeguard from the beach behind you.
The best part? Friend's don't even mention how messed up you were. Instead, it's just all part of the process and they've got your back.
Thank God for friends. And chocolate. Because life is just better that way.