A Long Layoff

Somehow, time has gotten away from me. I've always published a daily post, and now I find it's been six days since I wrote anything. I'm not a fan of life changes, but they seem to be piling up lately. Yes, I'm still trying to quit smoking---the patch helps a lot, but not entirely. I don't have physical cravings, really, but I miss the smoking ritual. First cup of coffee in the morning---light up; immediately after a nice meal---light up. Stressed out? For sure, light up. I actually don't want to quit entirely, because I need something to look forward to, so I'm limiting myself to two cigarettes in the morning and two before bedtime. If that's not good enough for anyone else, tough. 

Then on top of that, I've had a health scare. My advice is, don't go in for an annual physical, because the stupid doctor will order a bunch of "preventative" tests that lead to nothing good. (Okay, yes, go for your annual physical. I'm being sarcastic.) So, one of the tests came back questionable, which has led to a series of other tests; results not yet determined. These are big time-eaters, which I'm not a fan of. As for the results, I'm an optimist until I'm not. I don't go looking for trouble.

Anyway, back to publishing...What I've discovered from not having the time or energy to dwell on my publishing failures is that I no longer care. It'll soon be the one-year anniversary of my novel, and looking back at the last twelve months, it's clear that I was far too desperate to turn it into a hit. 🙄 (Spoiler alert: It didn't work.) Now I question why I was so emotionally invested. I still like the novel, and I would read it sometime, now that the details are fading from memory, so it could potentially feel like a brand new story to me. The whole process of writing and publishing...and marketing feels distant now, which is a good thing, although I never want to forget the thrill of writing it. I think that's my downfall---I love writing a story, but I detest trying to get people to read it. 

I've said it before, and it still stands: I'm the world's worst salesperson. As clever as we try to make it, we writers who have to force ourselves to advertise are too transparently fake. My desperation was as obvious as a big red zit on the tip of my nose. Take social media, for example. I could never finesse my way through marketing. I didn't know how to subtly talk someone into buying. I just went with (basically) "Buy my book!" Sure, I tried including some review snippets in my ad copy, and I tried an AI video or two, but everything I did dripped with flop sweat. Some writers are naturals at marketing; then there's the rest of us. 

Now, my attitude is, read it or don't read it. I'm still getting some KU reads, strangely, but I'm not curious enough to try to figure out how that's happening. I gave up social media a long time ago, and I'm sure not buying any ads, so...(shrug). I'm glad one or two people are reading it, but I don't really care how that happened. Apparently, the book does better when I don't try to push it.

So, where does that leave me? I don't know. I bragged that I'd have my new (old) novel published by March 1. That's not happening. I haven't opened the file in ages. I know what needs to be fixed, but I can't seem to work up the interest.

That novel remains on my to-do list, along with other writing tasks that I just don't feel like tackling, but know I should. I'm in avoidance mode, which is helpful as far as household duties, because I seem to be looking for any distraction from writing. 

Once things settle down, I can get back to it all. Right now, I'm feeling unsettled.