A bit of soul-searching.

I'm having one of those lull periods where nothing much is happening.

As long as I continue quietly writing, it doesn't matter. It is what it is. The main thing is to keep making progress. This is the true test of a writer--that you write without certainty, that you do it in a vacuum, that you do it because you want to. No reward or even feedback for months and months, and minimal reward at the end.

And yet you still do it.

I'll be close to half done with the WIP in the next day or two. I'm pretty sure I can finish a first draft by late April, though it may take a few days longer to go through it quickly and do a bit of touching up before I send it off for editing.

Then I'll go ahead and do something else for awhile, like move into the new house, find new walking spots. Maybe go about publishing "Gargoyle Dreams" and/or "Said the Joker, To the Thief."

I have given up on the latter with Kindle Singles. Really, it's pretty clear I'm not going to get an answer, and every day that passes (17 weeks and counting) merely confirms that. I no longer wake up with the hope...or the fear. I've almost forgotten about it, but not quite--cause here I am writing about it still...blah.

Maybe I'll write a quick story about a Fire-setting Jinn for the cover I paid for. Or finish Mother Sali. I usually don't know until I finish a book what I'm in the mood to do next. 

At some point, theoretically, Gary should be getting back to me about editing the book he bought. Who knows?

What it shows is, when I finish "Deadfall" (the new working title of the WIP) that I'll need to just forget that I ever wrote it. Because bigger publishers have a whole different time frame than I do, years not months.

I could follow up on some of the unfinished business--ask about "Tuskers IV," or ask about "Snaked," or the contract from the new publisher (which was supposed to be headed my way over a month ago.) But I'm a little dispirited about it. Fuck it. These things will happen or they won't, I'm going to go on writing.

Because in the end, that is the only thing I  have ANY control over.

The thing to remember is that there are hundreds of thousands of writers, and tens of millions of books, and how you can stand out in the morass is a real question. It seems impossible. I know that marketing is the key, but I have neither the aptitude nor the appetite to do so, and as long as that is true, nothing is going to happen except by pure luck. I'd be just as likely to hit a powerball win by buying a lottery ticket on the way home every night (actually, MORE likely.)

I put out "Faerie Punk" without any fanfare whatsoever. Fully edited,with a bought cover. It was a test, a sacrificial lamb as to what happens if I just put a book out with nothing more than an announcement. I think  it's a very decent, entertaining book. As good as anything else I've done.

I believe I've sold less than 10 copies.

So why am I spending most of my life writing?

There's no good answer, really. Because sitting at home doing nothing isn't an answer either. At least it gives me purpose. I do enjoy it. I do believe that is a mentally and spiritually nourishing and healthy activity. It's a fun hobby, it's an identity. I'm breaking even on the whole deal, at least as far as expenses are concerned.

Where I'm losing money is by not working at the store, but I was needing to step back from that anyway. I was no longer really helping the store, I was probably hurting it. It makes more sense to have Cameron and others running the store, not only to save my psyche, but also to get the store updated, because I was just losing touch. Burn out was almost inevitable after 37 years of doing it.

So that's been a trade-off.

So the point, I guess, is to keep writing--even if it means I sell 10 copies of a book I worked on for months and which I spent a $1000 producing. Treating it like I would any hobby. Fishing or Hunting or Skiing or Biking or...? Have to buy the gear, right?  It's just a different hobby than most people have.

There is the "familiarity at a distance" of the social media, which I enjoy. I like the other struggling writers, I identify with them. As I said, being a "writer" has become my identity, whether I deserve it or not.

And finally, I actually have had a few encouraging things happen. I've been paid (a little) for a bunch of books by real publishers (small, but real...)  By selling a book to a major publisher, I'm technically in the black as far as expenses. I do believe I'm getting incrementally better. So there is still a chance I could write the "great" book, the "successful book.  So I shouldn't quite give up on the possibility yet.

I just shouldn't depend on it.