It’s true that rollercoasters are fun if you like that sort of ride. Normally, I do but only at carnivals and fun parks. In real life, rollercoaster-like highs and lows aren’t anywhere near the fun.
I’ve been putting this reflection off for a couple weeks now, not because I didn’t know what to say but because the actual reliving of some of life’s cruelest lows weren’t something I wanted to do. 2018 and I weren’t friends.
Sure, I had better sales of my books overall throughout the year, but the bulk of that was courtesy of me finally finishing The Crazy Mountain Series and adding to the Picture of Love Series. Therefore, the bulk of the sales were in the first six months of the year. Sure, I finally finished Malaki’s story… but I didn’t like the working title, couldn’t figure out what I wanted for the cover, and the thought of going through it for editing made me stabby. My alter me finished and released my fantasy story, DragonStar. My kids and I got to see my mom in July and we got to hang out with good friends in Montana. All good things.
However the lows that hindered these highs were so much lower. Our pup, Gus, didn’t make it through the winter before cancer took him in February. Hard realizations that my personal relationship with my spouse has altered to the point of irreparability was my birthday “gift”. Watching my daughter leave home for college was heart-stopping in both its “proud mama” moment and its “holy shit Georgia is a long way away” missing her moment. Having my flash drive fail with all of the most recent book files I had becoming inaccessible shortly after finishing the Malaki story haunts me. Facing the fact that while dementia was shielding my mom from the pain of cancer, cancer was going to ultimately take her from me in September. All of the stuff going on has put further strain on finances to the point of me having to find a job or having the children go without food.
On top of the personal “stuff” there was the crazy of authors (and others) attempting to trademark individual words and the many legal attacks that rippled through the writing community. There were horrible attacks on people for their looks, their weight, their sexuality, their race,… their life both in and out of the writing community. Social media becoming less welcoming to the small business people and more financially focused. Social media becoming terrifyingly toxic in every arena and more censored with each moment.
With all this going on, my mental capacity to focus and function has become an ongoing rollercoaster of its own. Writing has been a challenge simply because sorrow and fear just don’t leave a clear outlet for the stories to emerge from. Looking at the flat sales and the knowledge that I’m still struggling to reach fifty reviews on just one of my fifteen books don’t help. The questions that plague many authors bombard the consciousness. “Why do I bother to write?” “Does anyone want to read my stupid books?” “Would having naked covers and hotter sex sell more?” “Why am I second-guessing myself?” “Writing is my passion, why wouldn’t I write?” “I read my stupid books so do I have to have better sales and more reviews?” Trying to quiet those endless questions is like trying to tell a teenager to stop talking in ‘teen slang’ or trying to pull teeth from a hen.
In the end, I sit back and think of the five or so of you who have read every single book I’ve written (you know who you are) and I think of the joy my paperbacks gave my mom when she held them with that proud look on her face and I know I’m doing the right thing with writing, even if most of the readers of the world have no clue who I am. I think of my kids and how incredibly proud I am that they are smart, kind, caring, good people who will one day be the shiny spotlights who stand out among the dim bulbs. I contemplate how, in spite of it all, I am a bit bent but I am not broken nor will I break from the weight of this rollercoaster’s gravity pull.
As 2019 begins and progresses, I will strive to give my five or so readers more to read in spite of the files I hope to retrieve from that failed drive. I’ll work to remember that those five or so readers are worth more to me than the so-called notoriety of having a ‘bestseller’ title to my name. I’ll continue to seek my mom’s approval and pride in all aspects of my life – personally, professionally, and creatively. And I will hope that in spite of the fact that I love the rush of a rollercoaster ride, 2019 is less of an extreme sport and more of a kiddie ride.