Why do I do it?

Bad reviews, self promotions, bad sales weeks (months?), editing - aw, shucks, the list goes on and on.  The bad and the ugly of indie publishing smacks me in the face daily to the point where I am emotionally and mentally bruised to various degrees.  I have quit my fair paying, full time, stable job to devote more time to writing and consequently have picked up far less demanding part time work to bolster the household income.  It is thankless work that brings me face to face with a public that doesn't care what else I contribute to this world outside my four to five hour shifts, doesn't respect that I am a human being with a whole other life outside the walls of that job, doesn't understand that the world does not revolve around them anymore than it revolves around me or anybody else for that matter.  I don't have money to put into advertising, I spend weeks editing only to go back a few weeks later and re-do it. 

So why on earth do I keep on?

Because I can't help it.  I spent thirty or so years writing and doodling and being creative, I just wasn't getting paid to do it.  I tried very hard to mold myself into the perfect little office employee, tried in several capacities actually, and succeeded to a large degree.  Or so it seemed.  I was pretty miserable in fact.  Just because I could do the work and perform the tasks at a high level didn't mean I found any measure of joy or satisfaction in what I did.  My mind drifted - a lot - to the point where I wondered about ADD/ADHD.  I found it increasingly difficult to sit in an office, no matter how brightly adorned it was, no matter what awesome and childish toys I filled it with, no matter what feng shui, new age devices I tried.  It was not just the office.  It was not just the job.  It was everything about the life I was trying to lead.  It wasn't me.  So, I had a lengthy discussion with my family and since we already determined the need to move back to Ohio it became feasible for me to make a sizable change.  It hasn't been exactly easy on the financial front and we are struggling more than we would like, but I am better.  Our relationships are all better.  I have had days where I have put out more than 8,000 words and others where I have edited a few chapters without interruptions.  I am exercising regularly and starting next week I get to volunteer in my kids' classrooms.  There are book conventions coming up in the area that I actually get to attend. Instead of scrunching prose onto scraps of paper, inservice packets, and post-it notes I can actually develop my ideas on my laptop or netbook, continue story lines as they strike me and actually devote real blocks of time to interviews and promotions. 

Many of my friends think I am a bit off for taking such a risk.  I have seen more than my share of raised eyebrows and fielded dozens of questions about how I plan to make this work but in the end, the only people whose opinions matter are happy to see me smiling more often than not. 

Why do I do it?  Because life is short and I want to love the one I live.