Finding Where I Fit — January 6, 2014

Finding Where I Fit

Whenever I start thinking about my writing future, where my books I’m writing now might fit, I always circle back to one giant fear.

That I’ll never find a fit for my books.

I’ve had two friends lose their publishers. One has jumped full steam ahead into self-publishing. Which is great. It fits her books well and she’s happy there. (At least I view her as happy, despite the setbacks.) The other is still sorting out her best option.

I’ve seen people become very jaded very quickly with the traditional publishing process. I’ve seen them start to diversify their list, some traditional and some self-published work.

I see some friends set a backbreaking pace for themselves in self-publishing.

I see so many paths, none of which feel right for me, for my books, for my personality.

I’m not a fast writer by any stretch of the imagination. I simply don’t have the hours to devote to writing any faster than I do when I’m at my most productive pace. (My most productive pace being 1K-2k per day. On bad days I write 500 words. On extremely good, and rare, days I can write 2K-3K.)

I need to stop trying to fit into the molds others have made for themselves. I know this, but it doesn’t stop me trying. And worrying.

But I know I don’t fit anywhere right now. I’ve never fit in, my whole life. I’ll probably always be the girl no one knows what to do with.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy — October 22, 2012

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

Apologies if I accidentally somehow just plagiarized that from someone. It’s not intentional. (I’d argue that the very fact I’ve mentioned that ¬†indicates I’m not claiming credit for that awesome blog post title.)

Because, really, it is. And I’m getting complacent in my vigilance against comparison.

I feel like my whole life the universe has been trying to teach me that my best will never be good enough. Every day someone else announces a book deal, an agent contract, etcetera. There are dozens of awards out there granted to the golden children.

A new clique of writers crops up every day on Twitter, in the blogosphere, in the deals listings from Publisher’s Marketplace.

And every time it feels like there’s another nail pounded into the coffin of my non-existent writing career.

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