Last week was hectic, no joke. I’ve learned some valuable lessons, which are as follows:
1) Keep track of one’s novels via search engines. You never know where your stories may land.
2) Don’t be afraid to leave yourself a one-star review. Or to encourage others to do the same.
3) A bad apple can’t spoil the whole bunch.
People, on the whole, are good. That was the biggest and most valuable point taken. I would be remiss if I didn’t note that while I’m still writing, and plotting, and even pondering far-off in the future ideas, I am facing more than a little weariness when I think about publishing. This has been niggling before a pirate stole my book, but has grown since the Amazon debacle. I’m not sure how much is due to temporarily feeling like my heart had been ripped out of my chest, or plain overwork. Even though I’ve cut back, I’m still feeling pulled in too many directions.
When I started publishing independently, my goal was to carve out a niche for my novels. But it’s funny how ideas evolve; over the last two years, since I began walking this indie path, I’ve learned tremendous truths about writing, editing, publishing, and… me. I didn’t expect that at all.
I assumed I wouldn’t change in the midst of all the tear-down and build-up. I would be the same hard-working, or yes, driven, person when it comes to writing. And within my more plots than sense head, that remains as true in 2013 as it did in 2011, as it was in 2010, 2009, 2008… In 2008, I dove head-first into the fictional pond, submersing myself completely I loved it, felt such gratification. It was about learning to write as much as telling stories. I didn’t mind the lessons; nothing valuable emerges until a level of expertise has been gained, through hard work. Not that writing is like building houses or farming. But skills are acquired by practice. I wanted to write, so I just did it.
Then I wanted to publish, so I queried, had a few nibbles, then reassessed. Going indie was the culmination of many considerations, and I have no regrets.
Not until now.
And it’s not even a regret really; I was just telling my daughter that life is too short for regrets. You make mistakes, you learn from them, you move on. I don’t regret anything to do with my writing. But as I said, even before experiencing piracy, I was starting to give pause to what I’m publishing and why. Maybe it’s the result of all I did last year, maybe it’s aging, maybe it’s not enough roughage in my diet. Or chocolate, or too much sun, blah blah blah… All I know is that today I wrote a somewhat crappy chapter, then sat to plot next month’s Camp story, and not two minutes after pulling out the folder, laying it on the kitchen table, I closed it up again, no heart to even picking up a pen. I poked through a chapter of another project, then was so glad my daughter was awake, ready to get something to eat. We had arranged a late breakfast-early lunch date, and for the first time in memory, all I wanted was to get away from writing.
I’m discombobulated, as the lovely Melissa likes to say.
Discombobulated is a fantastic word; it’s being out of sorts, but in a long, complicated manner of saying it, much like this post, or many of my posts. I’m not in need of assistance, which is great! But I’m just not THERE, you know?
I’m discombobulated. I think I need some chocolate. Well, maybe not, but it probably wouldn’t hurt.