I’m mad at myself today. I wrote two words on a sticky note last night for what I was supposed to do today: Pitch. Write.
The only writing I got done was the applications I sent out for a number of freelancing positions on various sites. Indeed, LinkedIn, Problogger, and some others. I’m getting pretty good at writing a cover letter on the fly. Unfortunately, those were not pitches. And when I tried to open up my book, knowing the two chapters I wanted to write today, my motivation flattened. The chapters were too emotionally draining.
Maybe it’s because my mindset was focused elsewhere. To apply for a job, I usually have to put my brain in that situation and test myself to see if that is something I really see myself doing. I think after an afternoon of doing that, I was fried. I wasn’t wearing the right hat. Exhausted, I took a nap. When I woke up, I made a coffee, ready to jump back into the chapters. But nothing.
Tomorrow I have to make some calls to government offices. Errands. Taking care of things. I made some sales this week, but I have a lot just sitting there, not moving. I’m stressed out about money. I’m in a place where I feel like there’s nothing I can do to break $250 per week in income right now and as a result, my life is sorta falling apart. The content mill agency didn’t used to suck this bad. It used to be consistent and reliable in paydays. Now I’m getting too many rejections to trust the process anymore. Writing on spec sucks.
I love writing, but the business of selling what you write is a total shitshow. Maybe it always has been. My confidence is wrecked. There’s almost no return on investment for my time if I spend an afternoon cranking out 2000 words, only for it to sit there for a month or just get a rejection. It’s really not great for my mental health, but there isn’t a lot else I can do. I need the work.
So yesterday is some better news. I decided to not distract myself with applying for gigs. I sat down and carved through some more chapters. I can’t even remember how many I went through. Some of them were 4th round drafts, others were rewrites. Some of those chapters just came together beautifully too. In a few places I saw exactly the kind of book I want to write. Its was a beautiful day of writing I was hoping to repeat today, but I think my mental/emotional tank was just empty. I needed to take some time recovering.
Tomorrow is another day.
I’m considering working on the book some more and maybe sending out some more queries to agents to temper that feeling of not doing something that is earning money right fucking now like I have to do. It’s not like anything I write after noon has the possibility of being invoiced any sooner than Wednesday of the following week. Either someone buys what I’ve got out there, or they don’t. Another day like yesterday would make it feel like this life was worth living. Because sometimes I’m not sure about that anymore.
If this is all just a simulation, I’m going to be very pissed off at the way things are going.
Wendigo Mountain 