I’ve been a writing for fifteen years. I’ve been a writer at heart all my life, but for argument’s sake I’ve considered myself a writer for the last fifteen years. I still feel guilty when I sit down to write. I think about all the things I should be doing–the dishes piled in the sink, the people I haven’t talked to in a while, the money I could be earning if I got a real job. Unlike many writers, I’m fortunate in that I rarely experience writers’ block. But I struggle in another way. I don’t always feel I deserve to do this, as though writing at will is a privilege to be experienced only by writers who’ve “made it.”
My definition of “made it” has changed over the years. When I first began writing, I talked to a lot of people who insisted I had a better chance of being struck by lightening than getting published. I was determined to prove them wrong. Though the dawning of self-publishing changed the way many authors are published for the first time, I was determined to sell a manuscript to a publisher, and I did. Though a traditional publisher had also experienced interest in my work, I wound up selling my first manuscript to a digital publisher I felt had a better appreciation of the vision I had for my story.
Almost immediately, I wondered whether I’d made the right decision. The editor I’d spoken with at the traditional publisher told me in no uncertain terms that when suggestions are made for revising a manuscript, it means the editor making them is seriously interested in acquiring the work. I’d understood that, but didn’t see any way to make the suggested changes without sacrificing the rest of the titles in what I intended to become a series, and I still don’t to this day. Then there was the opinion of my fellow writers, some of whom believed I should have done whatever I could to sign with the traditional publisher, believing this to be the only way to jump-start my career as an author. Though many traditionally published authors I know complain about what little assistance they are provided in their marketing efforts, I received what I believed to be even less, and I commiserated with my fellow, digitally-published authors. Though I self-published my eighth title, I was also labelled an “indie author” by reviewers and bloggers long before, as though there are only 2 types of authors, and digitally published and small press authors don’t exist.
Eight years after being published for the first time, my definition of having “made it” has indeed changed. Though I doubt I will ever be content where my writing career is concerned, (and perhaps that is the point of being a writer!), I long for the day when I will earn a full living from my writing. Life is full of distractions, but the number one concern on my mind, present even before I ever dreamed of being published, is knowing it’s “okay” to write, because my time doing it is justified, namely because I’m paying the bills with my writing. I want to inspire the world with my stories. I want to encourage others to seek out their true love and to never settle for anything else. But in order for me to have a prayer of doing so, I need to survive myself.
I am both a writer and a salesperson. Both, at times, I feel are equated with being the janitor. “Anyone can be a writer.” “Writing is easy.” Perhaps it’s opinions like this that keep readers from finding the time to read, and price our hard-created books to be considered less valuable than a cup of coffee.
The life of a writer is a tough and often discouraging one. I’ve learned, however, that it is in my blood, and I have no intention of ending my writing career no matter how bleak the bottom line may look, at times. Perhaps I write this to convince myself as much as I do you.
They say if you want a career in any particular field, before anyone can hire you, you must first hire yourself. I’ve discovered I’m one of those people who prefers working for herself and I daresay I am harder on myself than any boss ever could be. I’m hiring myself. And it’s going to be a very exciting ride.
October 26th!