Panic, Despair, & Apathy…Oh My!

I’ve self-published enough books to recognize what’s going on in my head right now, but not enough books to have figured out what to do to get through it.

First off, I want to take a moment and give a giant shout-out to the folks who have posted reviews of The Pointy Hat Brigade. I’m categorically not allowed to offer anything in response except my undying gratitude, so that’s what you get. I’m eternally grateful that you both enjoyed the book and took a moment out of your day to tell other readers about it. Thank you 🙂

The kids are at school right now, which means that I can dedicate the entire school day to writing. Which also means that the laundry is done, the bathroom is clean, and my daughter’s toy box has been reorganized. I’ve even hung a shelf and spray painted a Halloween decoration that I picked up from Michael’s the other day. And it’s not even noon yet.

I hate this little time period right after publishing a book. During the launch, I look forward to it – I dream of being able to sit down and just focus on the next book instead of managing ad copy and social media all day. Then the dust clears, sales inevitably drop a bit, and I find myself going through a series of emotional cycles. Panic, as I watch sales dwindle (should I pay for more ads? Bombard everyone on social media? Abuse my email list? What do I do?!?!!!). Then despair, as I remember that I pretty much always knew a series like this one wouldn’t take off until there were several books on the shelf, and therefore I shouldn’t even get my hopes up until I’ve written like four of them, which is going to take forever, so really I should just make a pan of brownies and call it good. Then apathy kicks in, as I think, “Well, maybe I should give up this whole writing thing altogether…I mean, slinging pizzas isn’t that bad, right?”

It’s not pretty, up in this head of mine. And now that I’ve typed the words ‘make a pan of brownies’, that’s all I’m going to be able to think about until I give up and do it.

I read an absolutely fantastic short story the other day. It was so beautiful, and haunting, and complicated. Reading it was like when you take a bite of a food so intricate and amazing, you can’t even tell what the chef put in. And you want both a constant supply of it, and never to taste it again, because the perfection of that first taste can’t be replicated.

It was a really good story.

My reaction to it went all over the map too – from deep admiration for the author to jealousy and hatred – because I don’t think it’s a story I could ever write. Or at least it’s not a story I would write right now. So then I found myself having this violent reaction, where all I wanted to do is crawl into a hole and hide. I immediately wanted to delete this story from my library and go read one of my go-to books to clear my head of everything the story just brought out in me. Which presents a weird dilemma – do I keep surrounding myself with this type of greatness, or do I limit my influences to my own genre?

From the outside, it seems obvious, right? You’re thinking, christ on crutches dude, obviously you should surround yourself with greatness at all times – strive to be the best, yada yada yada…but it’s not that easy. And I’m betting you have your own moments when you take the safe route, the comfortable route, the route that makes you feel good about yourself in the moment. It feels better to be a medium-sized fish in a small pond than it does to be a newly-hatched tadpole in Lake Michigan, right? Do frogs even live in Lake Michigan?

So I think that’s where I’m stuck this morning. What I’m writing right now isn’t at the caliber of that story…not yet anyway. And I’m on this precipice, where I have to decide what to do from here. If I hold myself to that story’s standard, I’m likely to toss out everything I’ve written so far and kick myself every day at how much I suck at this. But if I ignore what that story brought out in me, and go watch reruns of the Bachelorette for the rest of the day, I may as well toss out everything I’ve written so far anyway, because I won’t be growing. There’s gotta be something in the middle. Where I acknowledge that I’m not there yet, and do the best I can today even though it’s not the best I’ll be able to do tomorrow. And place that story up where I can see it if I lean to the right a bit – to remind me to keep swinging for the fences – but maybe not directly in my line of vision where it can taunt me.

Something like that. Or maybe I should just go make a pan of brownies.