This is not a blog post. I know it looks like one, but it is not. This is a tantrum. It’s a ‘why the hell can’t my life just go the way I planned for once’ rant. An immature, annoying, whiny tirade that screams ‘it’s not fair’. It’s also slightly on the ‘why do you insist on doing the things that annoy me most’ sort of article…but it’s not an article either.
Why? You ask. Things are going well for you. Didn’t you post the ‘what I accomplished in 2010’ thing the other day? I swear you were happy and all proud and shit then. WTF?
Here, have a cookie. Clive’s waving, you better say hello. Now sit back. It’s going to be a lengthy…thing. We call this place The Edge for a reason folks. It’s the EDGE of (IN)SANITY. Please don’t expect anything here to make sense. The cornerstone of insanity is the stubborn refusal to see logic and reason.
I am proud of what I’ve done in the past year. Hell, I’m damn proud of what I’ve done in the past three years. My problem is that now that I’ve gotten here, where do I go? I’m getting paid to write, but not what I want to write. That’s okay, it will come. (my mother’s voice of reason) I’m home, with my kids as I always wanted to be, doing what I love to do. But my kids don’t seem to differentiate ‘work time’ and ‘mom time’. Actually…Kurt can’t do that either. That’s okay too, they’ll adjust in time. (my mothers voice again) I’ve got three really awesome manuscripts polished and making the rounds, but damn it, they just keep making the fucking rounds. I swear one more rejection with “Loved the writing and the concept…but just not right for us right now. Keep on trucking, buddy” I might add names to The List. That’s okay, it only takes one ‘yes’. (every optimistic author I’ve ever heard’s voice of reason)
I’m out of ideas folks. I’m out of motivation. I tried to make my list of goals for the year and I crapped out. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I’ve gotten to the bottom of the barrel and there isn’t even a lick of can-do attitude left.
I can’t see anywhere else I can branch out in order to move forward. That is my problem. What the hell do I do now? Keep doing what you’re doing. Yeah, thanks Einstein.
I know life isn’t fair. I know that. I say it all the time. “Suck it up,” is my favourite line. But sometimes, we’re full to the top and sucking anymore might cause us to explode. Sometimes it seems the universe is out to hand you one rotten pile of crap after another. I’ve been the cliche ‘writer type’ lately. Moody, grumpy, quick to anger, and then, just when I don’t need to read it, I find blog after blog, article after article, on self publishing and I want to strangle their happy “we’re so awesome and shit” little necks. Really. I do. Why so harsh on the self-pubbies? I don’t know. Probably because I’m partly resentful, partly tempted, and a lot sick of hearing how great it is when really, it’s not any more or less great than traditional publishing. Sure, I keep up to 90% of the profits, but 90% of the time, that’s 90% of nothing. I already have that. I don’t want to just hold my book in my hands. Shit, if that were the case I’d be done writing. There’s no real motivation behind such a desire. I want to publish, and then I want to publish again, and again. I want people to actually read my books. I want them to love it, hate it, call me a crazy bitch, a hack, I don’t care as long as they’re reading.
(FYI: That was the ‘why do you insist on annoying me’ part of the tantrum)
Oh, don’t drink that it’s-never mind. It won’t kill you. In the future, don’t drink anything without a label here.
So, I feel better. You? The point of this whole bunch of nonsense? This is my state of mind about every three or four months. Each time the queries start resulting in rejections. I get angry, insulted, frustrated and just a little depressed. I examine all that I’m doing and try to figure out what I’m doing wrong. Then, everything turns back to happy when I realize how much I’m doing right. I’m not really this dramatic. That was for effect. I like to act. Did you enjoy it? Believe it? Good.
I thought it would be nice to show everyone that it’s lonely trying to get published. For all of us. We’re not perfect, and sometimes we’re allowed to act like whiny children and vent to get rid of the stress. It gets tough, it gets frustrating and it’s not fair. Do we quit? Never. I may not be able to move forward, but that won’t stop me from pushing. It shouldn’t stop you either.