The Struggle Is Real

Marketing is torture. Seriously. It's the worst part of being self-published.

My books won't sell if I don't push them on people, but my anxiety refuses to let me. It also makes writing painful sometimes. Like tonight. Which is why I'm writing this blog post instead to rant about it.

Sometimes when I'm writing it feels like I'm flying, and I hammer out like seven thousand words in a sitting and walk away glowing, feeling like a boss. And then sometimes, like tonight, literally nothing sounds more painful than writing.

I'm struggling to put down a single chapter, let alone more than a thousand or two words. It's uncomfortable and it has me on edge.

Normally when it isn't flowing, I just do something else. Tonight I'm forcing myself to keep going, because I'm determined to put out two novellas next month, but I have to be honest, every word feels painful. Even this blog post is giving me difficulty.

Sometimes I can sit down and write about whatever is in my head--I talk about stupid tv shows I like or what I'm listening to. And sometimes that's fun. Most of the time it is. Then there are nights like this, where it feels pointless, like I'm just adding to the noise and I have nothing important or useful or meaningful to say.

The truth is, some of the joy goes out of writing once you start having to constantly stress over the financial aspects of it. I'm worried about how good my writing is or what vibes I should go for with a project, and then it's compounded with whether or not it will even sell, or how I'll get reviews for it when I can't even email a book blogger without having a mild identity crisis.

I know I'm not the only one who goes through it, either, but this can be a really lonely profession. We all feel that. I get it.

Still, it sucks.

For tonight, I'm just going to remind myself I've done this before and I can do it again, too. I've written 50,000 words in five days. I've written 75,000 words in fourteen days. I can do this. I've finished seven books, what's one more, in the grand scheme of things?

I'm going to take a deep breath. Keep writing. And hope for the best.

Opulence Is My Middle Name

Okay, that's a lie. In fact, I'm kinda poor. My version of opulence would be being able to pay someone else to do cover designs and still having enough leftover to buy veggie burgers and a new pair of headphones. It would be being able to buy a new laptop, since that one that died on me last week is clearly done with life.

Alas, I can't really afford anything on that list, so I'll keep going DIY on covers (no big deal, since I'm also a graphic designer, but I like other people's art more than my own - who doesn't) and using broken headphones that I have to twist right in order to get them to work. That's how I roll.

I think a lot of people have this misconception that I have all of my shit together, or that, because I'm an author, I must be rich. The thing is, and if you're an author, especially an indie one, you will know this - we don't make much.

I mean, there are exceptions, obviously. There are indie authors out here who are killing it.

Then, there are the rest of us. The market is overflowing, and there are only so many readers. Even I'm skeptical of self-published books, sometimes. Probably the only indie authors who I don't really hesitate before reading one of their books is Nenia Campbell and Heather Crews. Wart Hill is really good, too.

And Leah Raeder/Elliot Wake, but he isn't self-pubbing anymore. Which is good, considering those books need to reach the widest audience possible. I need someone to share the pain with, since those books destroyed me.

My point is, it's scary taking a chance on a new author, especially an indie. It's why I run so many free promotions.

But we all know the only thing we can do is keep working at it, because the alternative is not doing anything at all, and that's a decidedly ugly alternative. But I can't lie and say I didn't come into this as a newbie without any dreams of blowing up and becoming some fancy bestseller. Isn't that what we all dream of?

Well, that, and becoming a top secret agent and/or contract killer for a government agency shrouded in mystery. Unless that one is just me?

Anyway, I just got home from a friend's place, and published Rage and the Rage/Frenzy collection the other day, so today is mostly writing and marketing stuff, and I figured I'd share the music that's getting me through it with you guys:

You Had a Thing No One Could Ever Be Sure Of

Title from the song Weight of Love by The Black Keys.

So. It's Black Friday. I worked from 9 to 5:30 today, then scrambled over to Best Buy and got a new laptop. Then I ran home and did the dishes, threw some chicken strips in the oven, and bolted to open this computer as fast as humanly possible.

I think I've met my one true love. No, but seriously - this laptop if my new golden child.

Anyway, I'm dead tired, but I'm taking a night off editing SOSAS, so I told myself I had to write a blog post instead, so here I am.

The last few weeks have been crazy.

Since I started working this job, I've lost ten pounds. My feet are covered in blisters, and my hands are constantly cut from the cardboard sleeves in the boxes at work, and by the time I'm off ever night I'm dead-tired from spending 8 hours on my feet, interacting with people, lugging out boxes and shelving stuff. It's tiring work, and anxiety doesn't make it easier. It's awful coming home after an eight and a half hour shift to realize you still have to write for two hours, on top of doing stuff around the house (aka picking up after four cats) and cooking dinner, if it's my turn to cook that night. I'm stretched pretty thin. There have been nights where I haven't written anything at all, because I come home and just pass out until it's time to get up and go back to work again. Did I mention I'm glad I'm only working seasonal?

I go back to school in January, and that will make work harder, too, but it's only for one semester, and then I'm free! I still totally failed Nano this month (actual life took over my life) but this job pays better than royalties right now, and I need this money so I can buy stuff that makes my job doable - like a laptop with a functional keyboard - and stuff that I desperately need; a phone, new clothing, gas, food - you know, the annoying shit we all need to live. But I'm hoping that now that I have this laptop and can write in bed, I'll put more work hours in.

Goodbye, external keyboard. Hello, productivity!

Work aside, I've actually gotten in a lot of reading lately while waiting for the bus or my ride home from work, and I just finished Carry On by Rainbow Rowell (my new favorite book! Review here) and Ruin and Rising, by Leigh Bardugo (review here).  What I really want now is the new Amanda Hocking, which doesn't come out until after new year's, so maybe a Kanin re-read is in order. . .

I've been listening to a lot of PVRIS and Tor Miller. I am obsessively watching Scream Queens. And you. Always. At night, when you think you're alone, I see you, staring into the dark, wondering . . .

Or maybe not.

And that's all I have to mention. As soon as I have a day off I'll have a blog about work and a blog about all this epic pop culture that I've been taking in lately, but right now I'm too tired to delve into much of it, outside of listing shit off.

Now I'm going to pass out, and wake up, and work another eight hour shift. Wish me luck. (I really, really, really need it.)