Since I’ve been looking into this self-publishing business, I’ve discovered all the things I should be doing to promote my work and myself. The blog, the social media, the “sales funnel.”
In order to succeed at blogging, I have to start getting into photography to produce pretty pictures for my blog. Oh and I have to become a graphic designer to make those pretty pictures prettier. And I have to become a marketing expert to learn how to make proper ads, and take courses. And I need a website. And I have to be serious and treat it like a business. And and and and…
Ugh. Make it stop. Please.
Since when did being a writer become about something other than writing? Except of course, in those incredibly intimidating statements that read something like “unless you have perfect content, nothing you do is going to go anywhere.”
I am a bit of a perfectionist. I want to do what I do well, and I’d like to be recognized for it. But at some point I’ve had to rethink what it is I really want, and stop freaking out about everything.
I write because I enjoy it. I’ve been doing that since grade 3 with only my own satisfaction and the support of my family as a reward. I like making up stories. My characters are cool people, and I like hanging out with them. That’s really why I write.
What if I never become a full-time writer? Would the world end? Would that mean I gave up?
I still want to be a full-time writer. And I still may do all the things I mentioned in the first two paragraphs of this post. But I’ve decided that what I really want is to enjoy the journey, without fretting about where I’m going to end up.
I’m not even bothering to find a pretty picture for this blog post. Hah. Take that, lords of blogging. You don’t own me.
Obviously, I’m still going to write. I may even stay on Twitter. But I’m not going to be serious. Not necessarily flippant either, but not serious. Being serious is no fun.