Changing One's Mind: Writing And That Other Life Stuff

Who am I writing this for? I've always felt I was writing to somebody. I know of at least one person who reads (or at least skims) my blog posts. For while, I had a few comments here and there when I was trying to write expert blog posts about the craft of writing. Lately, I've not contributed much on that front. I know that I've strayed off any plan I've made for the future use of this site. At this point, I'm just trying to go with the flow. I like writing blog posts here and don't care much if anybody reads this stuff. Maybe I'm just writing for me now. Kind of letting that inner dialog just flow out in the open. 

I would like to add though that I would love for more of you to read on Free Fiction Friday (and leave your comments). I'm going to have stories, both new and old ones. When it comes to an official challenge, say like the one I mentioned in previous posts, I just don't want to set a number. I said 50 before but I'd rather just write stories that may be shared here and will write ones that I will send out to markets--something I haven't done much of but would sure like to. I got it into my head that any story I produced had to go towards fulfilling some arbitrary number for that blasted challenge and it added an element of stress that I just didn't need right now. So, the final verdict, is that I will do my best to have a new story for Fridays. I would add that I may have excerpts from longer works on here too. 

What else is going on? Well, I'm still trying to make this working writer thing work out in better terms financially. What I've found is that I make greater strides when a book is involved. This isn't to disparage short fiction. No, I also believe I need to do it as well. In fact, I love writing short stories. I want to get better at it. In the meantime, though, I have obligations to bring in a certain amount of income, somehow. Whether it is from book contracts or publishing revenue makes no difference. For me, a generous helping of both is the long-term hope. 

I had goals for fiction writing this year that I plan to keep, at least in some fashion.  I keep running up against the limitations imposed by household financial necessities, a way of saying income shortfalls, which is yet another way of saying, I need money coming in. 

For some writers, this seesaw motion is far from uncommon; it is daily existence. Maybe it is for me too. Maybe I'm just feeling a little down in the dumps. Heck if I know for sure what's going on. In contrast to this statement, I was on the other end of the spectrum yesterday because I met with my co-author on the latest book I'm about to publish, Kicking The Odds. We waxed indulgently on all of the possibilities for great sales and lots of exposure. It was great. I was eating it up as much as he was. Still, I get nervous when it comes to the prospects of potential success. I mean I've had some very minor success with the other local books, but nothing sustainable.

In broader publishing matters, I'm trying to develop a new line of reissued books and also adding new stories to my current releases too. My fantasy novel, Cries Of The Faithless, will be ready soon. I have another nonfiction book that I need to wrap ASAP. I see a lot of busyness, lots of prospects for potential revenues, but nothing concrete. Honestly, I know very well that I can predict nothing in terms of sales. I can only provide opportunities in the form of books and stories to get those sales.

As a writer, separate from Founders House Publishing, the area where I've been making some money for the last six years, is currently settled in the famine phase of the feast or famine cycle. I hate this part of the ride but haven't found a way to get off it yet other than the aforementioned development of publishing income and securing more and better book contracts.

I suppose I'm just making some public observations. Probably enough for now.