Averil Dean has a post up that got me thinking. Analyzing my own state of mind. These days it feels like I’ve become a mad juggler, endeavoring a variety of writing projects all at once, moving forward with such momentum that surely something’s going to stick. My path is clear. I need to write my third novel of the year. I need to upload the finished copy of The Grind Show to Amazon, help Paul nail down the voices for the audio book, and launch the Kickstarter project to fund the book trailer. Not to mention cobbling together a marketing campaign to give it visibility I’ve got queries out for One by One, waiting to see if any agents are interested in representing it. I’ve got a couple of books to edit and release on Amazon as soon as The Grind Show is off and running (Dark Fae, Blood From the Mountain, I’m looking at you both here).
Lot’s going on, yet there’s a strange sense of listlessness striking at the heart of it all. Perhaps it’s a fatalistic sense that nothing will work out? My queries will be turned down. The Grind Show will fail to sell. My future uploaded novels will also just sit there, and I will be left at square one, despondent, writing more novels, shoveling shit as I make yet another and then another bid for a career as a fiction writer.
My only hope is that the quality of my writing will prove me wrong. That despite my low hopes something will indeed work out. Either way, I’m going to keep at it. There’s just one road to follow, and being lost when all you want to do is write means being tempted to stand still. Since that’s not an option, on I go.