Ugh, so I’m feeling a massive dose of reality this morning.
It’s not like I didn’t realize how difficult it really is to make a living as a writer. Although I have these high dreams of getting some sort of amazing six figure advance on the first book I sell, I’m well aware of the fact that I would be incredibly lucky to receive a $5000 bonus. . . and, of course, after agent takes their cut, and the government, and whoever else might somehow get their own piece, it’s a pretty damned small chunk of cash.
I realize that.
Which makes the fact that reality is hitting me so hard this morning so much more difficult.
Now, I believe that even if I struggle along as a lower tier writer for my career that I would do fine. Writing 2 or 3 books a year is definitely a possibility, in the situation that I don’t have to contest with trying to do the actual selling of the book, or, you know, working a normal day job.
But real life is sucking so hard right now, I don’t know how much longer I can wait to ditch the real job. I am having such a horrible morning trying to cope with my workload that I am already wanting to shut my brain down for the day. I am just having an incredibly difficult time dealing with it. I know, first world problems, right? I understand that. However, I even tried getting through the work that I was avoiding today. The stuff that I think is completely stupid for me to have to deal with. . . and it all came flying back in my face. I spent almost an hour trying to just get a small piece of it done, and nothing got completed. All because they can’t give me the most basic of information to complete this completely stupid task.
I realize I’m lashing out a little harshly, but I’m really really pissed right now, and the fact that I already hate my job doesn’t help anything.
All of this does give me the motivation to push even harder on completing this book within a small timeframe, but also causes a complete feeling of hopelessness in me. I believe, once again, that I have a great book on my hands. I believe that this time I’m producing something that the market thinks it needs, even though young adult dystopian novels are currently flooding the market. But, that doesn’t mean I’m going to be offered any sort of livable wage for my work. Sure, each book written gets me that much closer to that goal, and, in the situation that I actually DO procure an agent, the time between writing a book and finding a publisher decreases dramatically, and, of course, already being published will help a lot on all of that, but seriously, that could mean I’m stuck in an occupation I hate for the next 2 years, easily. And that’s looking at things optimistically.
But at this point in my life, I see very few other options. I could look for another job, one that suits me much better, but I would have a very difficult time getting similar wages at an entry level position, I could look for another job within the same company I currently work for, probably make more, but really have very few changes in my day to day, meaning, I’d still probably hate my job. Or, you know, I could try quitting my job and taking care of the kids. With the cost of daycare nowadays, it honestly wouldn’t be a tremendous cut to our financial bottom line, but it would make things quite a bit tighter. And, honestly, I’d have a lot more difficult time attempting to write when I’ve got kids in tow 24 hours a day.
So, I’m struggling with life today. I will move forward with the book, and I will do my due diligence to make it as amazing as possible, and I will hold hope that I will not only find an agent who believes in the project, but a publisher who is willing to pay handsomely for it, believing that it will do well in the marketplace. I cling dearly to that hope. And honestly, I’m not looking for anything crazy. Six figures may be a dream, but honestly, netting fifteen grand off the deal would do me pretty good, as long as I can sell another book within the year.
And that hope isn’t completely without its footing, even if the entire internets believes that it is nigh impossible for a debut author to receive such a deal. There are examples out there of people who have done way better than that with books that deserve much less credit. Granted, the books did sell, but when a publisher puts 6 figure dollars behind an author, you can imagine they are going to market the hell out of that book.
So, anyways, this is partially an admission of depression over the whole situation, as I believe I come off as being too much of a dreamer most of the time when I write about my thoughts on the future, but it’s also a note to say that I need those dreams. I’ve had those dreams about so many projects in the past. All of which have yet to come true, mostly due to lack of work on my behalf, although I think I did a great deal of work on Buddy. And it’s crushing to have those dreams crash. But I keep reminding myself that it’s just not my time quite yet and I press forward, honing my skills and creating more and more so that one day I will finally have people who care about my work, and then I will have a legion of words to press against their eye sockets and I will rule the book fair!
. . .
Yeah. . . I know. But dreams are the only way I know of to get through the daily droll of my occupation. Unfortunately, dreams are quickly becoming not enough. Going to have to fix that.