Woe Is The Writer

Morning all. It's KGG here, coming at ya tired. It's a school day and we got home late last night because were were attending my brother-in-law's wedding! That's right. Congrats to Steven and Joe! I know you won't ever see this, but one can never have enough best wishes floating around the Internetverse.

So I'd been wracking my brain for a blog topic. There's a lot of stuff I can talk about right now that has nothing to do with books.

Vintage powder compacts.
Jumping into the workforce after being home with kids for a decade (that's a fun one).
French skincare.
Instant Pot recipes.

But, obviously, those aren't gonna fly here.

Honestly, I feel like I've used up all my publishing/writing nuggets and now I'm floundering to contribute anything to the conversation. My career seems like it's at a standstill. My agent search has petered out and I'm debating on whether I want to try again with a new book, or remain an indie. Ideally, I'd do both but that doesn't seem to be an option right now.

Do I want to start all over with a pen name? Bask in the freedom of anonymity? Start from scratch?
I don't know.

I messaged my friend the other day. "I'm having an existential writer crisis," I said. "Can you help?"

And then she listened to me bitch for an hour. Do I want to keep going the agent route when I don't have the patience needed to survive the glacial speed of traditional publishing? Do I want to self publish whatever I want without worrying about high-concept or novelty? Do I want to burn money on a marketing pyre? Do I want my work to fade into obscurity? Hell, no, on that one.

I also told her that I feel awkward posting in an indie listserv because I have nothing to say. I haven't experimented with pricing or strategized a series launch. I don't have any author income to speak of. I'm simply there wishing people good luck. I'm a lurker. Blech.

I've turned into such a whiner--like my kids except it's about the state of the industry and not about having chicken with mushroom for dinner. It's not a good look.

An author friend of mine said she wished she had started her writing career thirty years prior. It's the one thing I have on my side: time. I'm forty. Which is young, dammit. I have time to figure out how I want this to play out. What is the long game? And how can I get there?

I know I want to entertain. To my make money. To be part of the industry. To have plenty of blog content.

But how the hell do I get there and how long will it take? And most of all, will I have the fortitude to carry on when my books tank or I've burned cash on a marketing bonfire?

Feel free to chime in, preferably with your own tales of woe. I am here for it. We're all struggling and right now, this is how I can contribute. You are not alone. So lay it on me.