The book has finally been released into the open world and as I wait patiently for someone to finish it and tell me what they think, I can't help but ponder on all the hard work and effort I've put in to it. This is something that I've worked on for two years and I'm sad to say that the finished product isn't enough. There is so little time, and so many distractions. Everyday, I look at the half finished first draft of book two and I think "Get to it," but I don't. Tomorrow is my restart date since part one is out, and I just finished the short story. Now I have to churn out book two so that I can build my brand and peddle my wears. I don't mind then grind, I just wish it didn't have to be forced. I do rationalize though, that this is good training for a job that relies on deadlines and due dates.
Marketing is the worst. Having to put myself out there everyday hoping that someone will like my "work" enough to tell their friends. There is something about this process that worries me. Having my success in other peoples hands doesn't really work for me, but sadly I have no choice in the matter. Having people read your writing is truly a leap of faith every time you put the words in their hands. They read it, taking in what they want, and then remembering it how they want. Their subjective thoughts on your work can make or break you, both physically and mentally. I understand how a lot of other writers can by bogged down by this kind of pressure.
Writing to an audience has proven to be harder than I thought, especially now that I know this audience is fickle and hungry for constant stimulus. How is a writer supposed to distance themselves enough to keep writing, yet stay in touch enough to sell? There is definitely a razors edge here that must be walked at all times. Fall to one side, and you alienate your audience for the sake of your own artistic views. Fall to the other and you lose yourself in the prospects of monetary gain and become little more than a factory, pumping out products for basic consumption. Why can't life be black and white?