when I commit to a person, I FUCKING COMMIT. if their depression, anxiety or life comes knocking, you bet your ass i’m at the door with a double sided axe waiting for a good fight.
you cant expect people, to always be happy, even if they are in love. because life doesn’t stop for anyone. But you can be there for the good fight.
my god why can’t everyone be like this
I had a five book deal. I wrote all five books. I tried hard, hard as I could, to be as awesome as I could, but things wound up dwindling and my publisher didn’t want more. I’m not stupid, I watched the # of reviews and amazon rankings go down each book, the fade in interest was clear and I don’t blame them for making the decision that they did.
What I’m finding hard now is that…for my entire life, I have always wanted to be a writer. Towards that end, I have written, and written, and written, and those books were the best ones I could produce at that time. But the reading public decided that they weren’t enough.
I’ve written some other stuff since then to try to find my sea-legs again, and I’m working on one meaningful project in particular now with all my fervent devotion, but it’s hard. It was one thing to write ten books before one got an agent and sold, I was ‘learning’ then and knew someday my ship would come in. Now that it’s come in and then sailed back off, I’m a little lost.
What’s to stop my next project from suffering the same fate as my prior ones? I’m the same person writing them — a little better a writer, yes, but the heart pouring out words is still the same one I’ve always had. What if what I have to say isn’t big enough or special enough to make the difference I want to make in the world? This new project gives me shivers. Which I used to take as a good sign…but since the ones that sold and then dwindled gave me shivers, too, I just don’t know if I can trust myself anymore.
This may be a bit more than you’re willing to take on for your tumblr, and if so, I understand. I feel better for having at least told it to someone though, so thank you for lending an ear.
To illustrate my own lack of discipline, a story: you emailed me this question at least a week ago. I knew I had to answer it, because it was a rough and sad and incomplete and inspiring and angering story and those are the best kinds to write about, at least in a microblogging space. But I knew it would take me at least an hour to answer, and an uninterrupted one at that; one where I had time and silence enough to assemble the best answer based on my experience, your reality, and my hope for you. I have not started writing that answer until right now. Out of at least seven days, I didn’t find one single hour to write. Not one.
This is bullshit of me. And I bring it up to illustrate how, when you tell me you wrote five books (and plenty more before those), my brain glazes over and my hands go numb because I haven’t even come CLOSE to the discipline and dedication and just straight-up time budgeting it takes to write that much. And I feel the need to say this because my advice to you comes from a foremost place of admiration.