Finishing Novels

Finishing Novels

So much to do so little time. I have lost the concept of free time, there is time at work and then there is time working at home. If I’m not working on something at home I’m slacking (not relaxing) the same way one would slack at a job.  It’s kind of stressful but I manage I guess, this is the life I’m cursed with, might as well live it to the fullest.

There is something wrong with my brain, I know that. I’m haunted by addiction, depression and anxiety. I keep away from these internal monsters by staying busy, by investing time in creation. That’s why I need to stay busy, if I stop moving I start falling apart. I’ve always been like this, it wasn’t until I slowed down that I started to realize it.

So, that is why I am working on two novels right now, in addition to all my other shit. It sounds like a lot but really the two novels are written, it’s just a matter of getting them finished and tidied up then putting together submission packages and shopping them around. I know I have been talking about this a lot but now I’m actually starting to work on it. I’ve gotten good feedback from the few beta readers I sent the books out to and that’s given me the confidence and energy to try getting published again.

It’s hard, I don’t think this is something people understand, it’s hard for me. I feel like I push and I push and I push and I get no where. I look around me at my peers and these people have it all figured out. They are advancing in careers, buying property and moving on with life and I feel like I’m spinning in place with the childish dream of being an author holding me back.

It holds me back because I can’t spend extra time at work, because I can’t spend extra time getting more education because I need to keep time set aside for my writing. I need to keep time set aside for my creating. Time that my peers have spent wisely I feel like I’ve wasted in pursuit of a dream that will never come true.

That’s why it hurts, that’s why it’s painful to have three books published and to sell next to nothing. It’s painful because it makes me feel like an idiot, like I’ve just wasted life when I should have been doing something worthwhile.

The problem is that I can’t be happy doing anything else. The only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning is my craft. My acts of creation. I can’t live for a job, I can’t spend 35 years grinding it out at a place I hate just to call myself a homeowner, just to retire, just to have grandkids. I can’t live like that and if I tried I would probably end up killing myself. I say that with no hyperbole.

It just hurts watching others succeed and still feeling like I’m in the same place I was five years ago. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see my peers make it, I just wish I could move forward too. It hurts sacrificing so much and feeling that it was all for nothing.  I feel trapped because I can’t give these dreams up but I want to see some semblance of success, some sign that I’m moving forward.

I’m finishing my novels, I’m going to shop them around aggressively and if I get no where, well, at least I’m used to that. I honestly feel like I’m going to be in this same spot in fifty years. It’s hard to keep my head up and keep trying but I honestly don’t know any other way.  I just wish I had more time, I always feel like I’m fighting against time.

Finishing novels, just to start new ones. The endless circle that is my life. I love it and I hate it at the same time.

Thanks for reading.

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