Shrouded in mists

robjtriggs

Aug 4

Why do we do it?

It's certainly not for the money. No-one bar the select few can actually make a living from writing – let's knock that one on the head for starters.

For the sense of achievement? Well, maybe. Maybe just having done a thing is enough. Not for me, though – I want to be read, and it'd be nice to have a little appreciation. Maybe that means I'm shallow. Not much more I can say about that. What's writing without at least a little self-doubt?

There has never been so much (excellent) competition in the field. So many writers fighting over the scraps of agency, of open submission periods. The chances of even getting a sniff of a deal seem astronomical.

And this is before AI comes in to make the whole industry redundant.

I've written before about being a failure. And that's on my mind again right now. I feel I have to accept that the trilogy I've been working on for heaven knows how long will never be traditionally published.

So what do I do now? In any rational world I'd quit. And, to be honest, just… giving in… has never felt so tempting.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

But there's something about writing, something about creating, that just won't let go. I can't give in, because what would I do with myself then?

And I can't let a novel go incomplete. I need to finish Breathing Fire – and by finish I mean give it as much polish as I can give without a professional editor (ideally paid for by someone else) going over it. That means I finish my alpha-readthrough then put it out to the betas for further dissection. Then I go through it again.

I am determined to end up with the best possible version of this novel I can possibly get.

I'm just not sure why.

I mean, I could self-publish. It's just that I've been marginally dissuaded from this by two factors: firstly, my experiences with New Gods have taught me that I have not the skill nor the will to promote myself and my work effectively. The work itself I believe in: my business talents less so. Secondly, I have heard whispers that say my work has more value as a potential future sale than as a failed self-published venture. I'm not sure if this is true, but I have been checked in my beliefs. So I haver and hesitate and do nothing.

Besides, it's summer holidays so I have little opportunity for anything beyond fretting.

So I stumble on and I stumble on. I have to finish this readthrough of BF and then it's on to the only thing that gives me any hope at all: the small, miniscule possibility that an entirely new project might help me reach the upper slopes of Mt Publishing.

But I am weary. Base camp may be a long way behind me, but the peak is still shrouded in mists.