So here I am sucking down my first cup of life on this wonderful sunny, humid, hot, Wednesday morning. I just checked my sales report on my Amazon site on the books that I have written and published, and surprise, I am still not a millionaire nor even a thousandaire, shucks, I haven't even made it to a hundred.
I did a good job, why aren't they flying of the shelves? What is the problem? Do I suck as a writer? Am I asking too much?
These are the questions that nearly every writer asks at some point in their published life I believe.
The fact is that it is not enough to just write and publish a good book. The marketing and promoting of your work is with out a doubt harder than the writing of that work.
And sadly even then the chances that you will be able to quit your day job and just write are slim to none.
I have come to the understanding that writing is a labor of love. You either love to do it or you don't. The rewards are not monetary, they are instead the emotional high that you receive when you have finally completed the piece and are able to see it in printed form. It is a feeling of self worth and the happiness of having created a piece of literary substance that is your true reward.
I mean why would anybody really care to read my musings. Who am I ? What the heck do I know? I have only been consuming oxygen on this ball of dirt for sixty seven years.
Well enough of the pity party, time for another cup of the elixir of life and heck maybe a big old cigar!
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