Sunday, May 18, 2014


Here's the thing about writers: We all think we're going to write this amazing bestseller that will make us famous and we'll have all these instant fans, and let's not forget the money, and we'll just be able to leisurely type up stories for the rest of our lives in complete stability without worrying about finances, whether or not future books will do well (because they WILL) and everyone will love us. The reviews will prove that. They'll all be five stars!

So, yeah, there's THAT.

Then we actually publish a book and realize we were so, so wrong. Although, it would appear some authors DO get that first published book that's a bestseller, and they probably DO end up with a gazillion fans who will buy anything that has their name on it (even ketchup packets), and have months, maybe years, of outstanding sales to give them their monetary stability.

Then there's the rest of us.

We write a book. We think the world will love it. The world might very well love it, but if the world doesn't know about it, they can't decide whether or not they love it, right? Promoting is MAJOR for authors. I mean, every hour of the day-crazy-blood-shot eyes-caffeine-high-can't eat-can't sleep-snap at anyone and everything that tries to pull you away from contacting people about your book-major. Not that I would know.


Here we are, with this book that took months to write, that consumed our every thought, that haunted us and would not relent until we were fanatically typing it out, that made us cry, and laugh. This book that forced us to think about things we'd rather not, and not only that, but write them down for all the world to see (if they, ya know, were to know about the book). This book that spoke to us, changed us, opened our eyes, made us look into our souls and reflect what we saw with our words. This book that stole our emotions from us and put them down on paper in the form of letters arranged into words, arranged into sentences, arranged into a story.

Unread by most, loved by some.

It's sort of disheartening. So why do we keep writing? When every other thought is a self-doubt, when we have days or months of depressing sales, when we self-promote our brains out (literally. I'm like a zombie some days), and feel that we are getting absolutely NOWHERE. When we have days where we think we're shit, our work is shit, and that anything we ever produce will continue to be shit.

Well, obviously we're insane. But we also love what we do.

I guess that's why we continue with our dreams. Because if we don't, then we're just masochistic. There has to be a reason for it all, right? Why continue to put ourselves out there only to be shot down? Writing isn't just something we can stop. It's in us, it's a part of us. It doesn't go away, not really. So we write, and we dream, and maybe someday, we even get our dream.




  1. I shout your name every chance I get! Your day is coming. I can feel it... or maybe that's the wine kicking in.

  2. I loved this post. I agree with every word! It's so nice to hear from others going through the same thing. Best of luck!!