Sep 15, 2009 17:04
I find this a difficult thing to deal with or even write about. I'm one of nature's optimists. A battler to core. Get the crap knocked out of me. Get up. Get going again. And repeat. It'll happen again. So what. I'm Bittereinde stock. Unless you are of this type -- or very very lucky -- writing for a living will destroy you. It doesn't mean the constant slaps, the endless erosion from believing you have written the best you could, and that it is good... and it putters along at mediocre sales are not destructive as hell. Yes, you can tell yourself -and all of us do, that if we got a 1/100 ofthe marketing and store promo that go into Rowling or Dan Brown it would change that. But you don't actually KNOW. The uncertainty niggles. Most of the process is out of your hands, but that doesn't stop you thinking a great book should break through. The constant hassle about money, the feeling of inadequacy because joe-the-salesman can do X&Y for his family - and you can't dream of it. It's all very well telling yourself that Joe has half your ability, and you get a lot of satifaction from your writing. That's obviously not what society feels about it by the apportioning of rewards, and satisfaction doesn't pay the bills. Yeah, they don't financially appreciate the physicist or mathematician either. But you still have to deal with the real consequences of this. Then there is the erosion of people who seem to think it's all easy and involves no actual real work. It's all very well to suggest they try it. They won't and they'd rather believe their view. They don't mean a lot to me, but still... niggle. You need the hide of rhinosaurus, and an enormous level of self-faith and self-motivation, to do this year after year. And mostly I have. Barbs and my bruv had faith in me getting published back when I did my 7 years... (I don't think another person on earth actually believed it, or that I was working harder than 3 ordinary job-holders to get there 18 hour days were a norm. I've got slack now and sometimes do as little as 14. Erosion. Battle fatigue.)
But now, with selling up... I've for the first time been completely bleak and just not pulling out of it. Battling to write at all. It keeps sweeping round me like a mind-numbing mist. Doing something about the dogs and cats was a slight lift. I got some sleep. But it's biting at me. Dragon's Ring comes out in hardback in October. What if that flops? There is no more to give. And financially it's just as bad. We just don't seem to be selling the proposals for what I believe will be great books. Is it me? Is publishing? And I just have to write for turn in money... and there is nothing there right now. Grey cloud. I've loved this place. I worry about my dogs, my cats, my family. I worry about the whole process over there... the move and quarantine are going to eat up the house sale money and I'm not making much. Will we be able to do this? I don't know. There is no room for doubt, but it's still around.
So I am going to go and fish and dive for a few days. It won't change the equation. But I must try to shift this.