Tuesday, Shmuesday

So, my Tuesday Tangents are sometimes Wednesday WTFs, I’m doing the best I can here. And since I’m fairly certain I’m the only one reading these, the point is fairly moot. Anywho, I wanted to explore how we stress ourselves out with arbitrary deadlines. Or at least I do, and I’m fairly certain I can’t be alone in this.

Within the next couple of weeks, I will have finished my third book in the past fourteen months. I have self-published all of them and I’m proud of how they’ve turned out. And the reason I have done this so quickly is simple—I’m broke. My husband (who made about three times what I make) died three weeks before my first book was published and we did not have our ducks in a row before he passed. No, ours were more like squirrels at a rave.

While I’ve been dealing with the barrage of end-of-life tasks, I’ve also been navigating the indie publishing world. And it is not for the faint of heart. I have purchased software and services to keep people from ripping off my work. I’ve figured out the dumpster fires that are Amazon and Ingram Spark. (I swear by all that is sacred, if someone could open a publishing house that had an in with the big bookstores and didn’t take such a big piece of the pie that the creator is left with crumbs, the flood of indie authors beating a path to their door would be truly unbelievable.) I’ve navigated tweaking cover art, interior formatting, and commissioning character art. The list seems never-ending.

I’ve done all of this for a couple of reasons. First, I love the story I’ve created and want to do it justice. Second, it seems like my best option for being able to feed myself. I’m over 50 in a field that is very subjective (communications/graphic design), and I’m not sure if I just don’t know wtf I’m doing regarding my resume or if I don’t interview well, but finding a job that will pay me a living wage seems completely impossible at this point.

So…I write. I figure that if I can publish enough books, at some point I will see a little money. Even if I never hit it big and always need to keep my day job. Making enough from writing to supplement my income to a reasonable level feels like it should be attainable. At some point.

It really sucks that the society we are living in now is set up in such a way that it feels impossible to ever relax. Hustle culture is a bitch and it’s been the norm my entire life. And I’m so, so tired of it.

For now, I will continue to impose arbitrary deadlines upon myself, because there’s not much choice from my perspective. Maybe someday, I’ll have written enough books to be able to relax. Or I’ll win the lottery. Either would be fine with me.