Being in a FB group of authors and readers who love them has been a needed experience. I see the excitement. I feel the genuine love the readers have for their books. Those are two things I think I want as much—if not more—than seeing “Best Selling Author” applied to my name. For the most part, I take in how supportive the authors are of each other and how the readers cheer them on. Involuntarily, it reminds me of my failed attempt to connect with a few of them. It stings a little but instead of feeling negative about it, I’m feeling like this just proves I need to work harder to get more books out and focus on that for now. If only it were so simple.
The loss of my first alpha readers has propelled me into a new process. I tried looking for new ones close to me (feels like less of a burden) but found that most around me aren’t really readers, don’t care for the dark themes they may or may not encounter, or can’t separate the writing and characters from me enough to give it a fair shake.
Change is supposed to be good at times but it can also hurt. I spend so much time trying to wear my “reader” hat while combing through my own work that I’m constantly feeding my inner critic and encouraging self-doubt. What I want for the book is already in my head. That makes it way too easy to miss things that fresh eyes would catch and question earlier enough that I don’t have to rewrite entire chapters.
Knowing that is half the battle.
To adapt to the new circumstances, I’ve had to become a planner. The pantser in me cringes each time I reach for a sheet of paper or open a new notes doc. Back when I had people read each chapter upon completion, I could wing the hell out my plots and worry about holes, pacing, and, character development at a later date. Now, I’m stressing each and every little thing because there’s no one there to shake the hell out of me for stressing the details—maybe prematurely.
Somehow, I keep forcing myself to try, though. What little time I allowed myself to believe that I’d done enough by publishing four books and should just stop, I found myself about to walk into the arms of depression. Since then, I’ve been working hard to motivate myself and remember these facts: even if I wanted to, I can’t stop writing, regardless of how difficult my process has become, I can’t stop writing, and even if I stopped publishing, I can’t stop writing. Writing is a crucial part of me and my happiness. In the end, happiness is the real goal.
Someone once told me I should be proud of myself for writing books because so many people say they’re going to and never do it. It’s good advice. Today, I can honestly say I’m proud of what I’ve done. I’m grateful to have met those I’ve met along the way, too. There’s just so much more I have to do, though. My star is still far from reach.