Here’s my revelation about being published: you don’t walk around in a cloud of stardust every minute.
Eventually, it gets routine, even dull. Being a published author starts to feel ordinary, because, well, it is ordinary when you’re in it.
Mind you, I’m a positive, upbeat person, so much so that I strongly suspect certain people have wanted to punch me in the nose.
However. Even I, the original Pollyanna, have my not-great days as a published author. As I said in a thread at the writing community Backspace, every high wears off, no matter how good.
I know how this might sound. I’ll admit to some moments in my “aspiring author” time of wanting to spit nails listening to a published author on a blog or forum complain about traveling for a tour or having to write furiously to meet a deadline. The internal dialogue went something like this: At least you have a deadline! At least you have a book for which to tour!
But even dream jobs have their not-so-dreamy moments. Think about anything you’ve ever desperately wanted to achieve: a job, a position on a sports team, parenthood. And maybe it’s everything you’ve ever hoped for, but something is still going to suck.
NOT THAT I’M COMPLAINING. See, I have to say this, too, because I wouldn’t trade my author woes for my struggling-freelancer-unpublished-writer woes, anymore than I’d trade in my kids to sleep in an extra hour.
I know I’m lucky. It’s a dream come true. And I get fresh hits of that “book deal” high now and again, when I get a fan letter, or a lovely review. But in between the highs are long lonely days and weeks of working my ass off, because if getting here is hard, staying here is even harder.
Not that I’m complaining.
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