I know, I’m a terrible audience. I’m about the worst reader that a writer could have. I have the attention span of a flea.
It hurts my writing, too, because I am already bored with my new book, and I just started chapter two. This does not bode well for Catskinner fans.
I hate it when I get like this. I feel like a toddler, just saying, “I donnwanna!” about everything.
I don’t know what it is that I do want, and that’s the real problem. I’m bored with everything. I try to distract myself with games, books, movies, stupid Cracked.com articles, but nothing can hold my interest.
My writing is the worst. I open the document, read over what I have written so far, and think, “Well, this is pointless.”
It’s Sunday, and tomorrow I go back to my day job, and I really don’t want to go back to work without having accomplished anything over the weekend. I know what my new novel is going to be about, and I have a pretty good idea where I need to go from here, but it’s boring.
I know, this is a symptom of depression. I’m depressed about a lot of things right now, money chief among them. All I want to do is go back to bed and sleep. That isn’t going to help, though.
At times like this everything seems so damned pointless. Why do I spend my time writing when I don’t like doing it and I don’t get anything out of it? It looks like I’ll get a royalty payment in October, which will be the first one of this year. Forty-something bucks. And it’s taken me ten months to get there.
So far I’m on track to make less money from writing in 2013 than I did in 2012, and I have two books out now. I’m getting all kinds of good reviews on my books, people tell me how much they love them, but nobody’s buying the damned things.
That lady who writes dinosaur porn is making more sales than I am. Heck, the guy who wrote that e-mail about beautiful Russian girls who want to meet you is making more sales than I am.