Sometimes this thing we do, it’s freaking hard.
And it’s lonely. And depressing. And sometimes it kicks your ass so hard you begin to wonder why you do it. And the next time it hits you you wonder if you should stay down.
Or at least, that’s how it is for me.
Maybe for you too? If so, I want you to know that you’re not alone.
For me, it’s a near constant struggle. Against the cursor blinking at me from an empty Word document. Against an industry that is broken. Against my own demons (depression, self-doubt). Against that bottom line that just. doesn’t. move.
And it’s lonely. Because no matter how many friends you have and how much support they try and give you, in the end it’s just you and the book/story/poem.
When I first moved in with Jo 15(?) years ago, we lived in a pretty rough neighbourhood. There was a crack house across the street and the house beside it was home to a constantly changing number of working girls. We’d go for walks and I’d pick up needles from the grass beside the elementary school. Our street was blocked off by police cars more than once. It was… unsavoury. The house next door was exceptionally run down, and the man who lived there had obviously had a difficult life. He was poor, I’m pretty sure he was an alcoholic, and he worked fucking hard.
That dude, from sunup to sundown he was working. He’d be shoveling bottles into the back of his truck to take to the depot for a refund. Or sorting through various metals to sell for reclamation. Or–you get the idea. He worked his ass off… but he never seemed to get anywhere.
There are days when I feel very much like that man.
…and then there are days like today.
Today I hit my word goal for the day. Yay writer me!
And today this happened:
Yay editor me!
And this happened:
Yay editor & publisher me!
And it made it easier to remember why I do this thing I do. It’s not for the bottom line that never moves, it’s to make good art. And maybe make some people happy along the way.
…but sometimes? It’s still freaking hard.