Two weeks in a row a dear friend gave me a backhanded “compliment” regarding my work. Mind you, she hasn’t taken the time to read my work in years because she was always questioning whether or not I was writing about her, to the point where it became a serious issue. Each time she asked how quickly I’d be able to sell the work I am currently doing I said “I’m not Stephen King or J.K. Rowling, but I’m not a newbie, either.” She doesn’t understand that turnaround time and getting something sold are not immediate. You don’t become a writer to be a billionaire. It’s a long-shot, and I know very successful writers who only get paid about fifty cents per book sold.
Those who can’t do are very quick to criticize those who can. You can be a part of my life and support the fact that I’m a creative soul, or you can choose to ignore it. I leave the choice with you.
I am doing the best I can to pay my bills. There’s never enough work or enough ideas to achieve that, but I work my ass off. Literally and figuratively. There are days I am in so much pain and I still force myself to sit for 8-16 hours to write. I call that “dedication”. It’s not “lazy”, “stupid”, “lacking common sense”, or “self-destructive”. Physically live in my pain for a year and write before you judge.