I went to my mother’s house tonight to look through her old hope chest with her. I’ve been quick to say that I’ve never wrote anything before SLAMMED, but boy was I wrong. In fact, there were so many stupid, pointless things of mine from the past in that chest that I could probably make a book out of all of it. But since most of it was stupid and pointless, I’ll spare you the agony. Instead, I’ll just post some of it from time to time here on the blog so y’all can laugh with me.
Out of all the things I found, this myspace blog post was my favorite because I couldn’t have been more depressing. Why would my mother have my myspace blog posts saved, you ask? Because she saves everything. And back when I actually used myspace, she didn’t have a computer. I would print out my blog posts and give them to her. Luckily, she kept them all, maybe knowing how silly they would be someday. Here’s a pic of the title of this 2006 blog post.
I’m going to share this blog post with you…all the way back from 2006. Fair warning: This is a really sad, pessimistic post about not following your dreams. Good thing I didn’t listen to myself. It also says a helluva lot about how much the publishing industry has changed.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Well, in a matter of minutes my whole outlook on my future has changed. I have been pondering the thought of writing a book. Actually, I haven’t been pondering. No. I’m certain I was born to write a book. The obsession I’ve had with the thought that I’m not doing what I was meant to do has caused me to hate college, hate having to get up and go to work, and hate the thought that I still haven’t started writing a book yet. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do, right?
I’ve been doing a lot of research. Not about what to write, but about if it’s worth it. And based on my research, I’ve learned that my dreams are just that. Dreams.
There are only a handful of individuals who actually make enough money off of a book to quit their day job. On top of that, even when people do write books, the advances are really small. Unless you magically get picked for Oprah’s book club, a writer’s chances of success are minimal. Impossible, even.
The time spent writing and editing and trying to sell your book to a publisher and the actual money you make working on all of this calculates to earning about .50 cents a day for an average writer.
I’ve always believed that I would look back on my life when I’m old and be disappointed in myself for never writing that book I was meant to write. But…now I won’t be. I’ll be proud of myself for coming to this realization at only 26 years old. I’ll be glad that I didn’t waste all those years writing and editing and waiting on a publishing deal, only to be let down. And honestly, I don’t seek notoriety or fame. That actually terrifies me. I only seek appreciation for my intellectual oddities, and I get that from you guys on a regular basis. So…I think I’ll just stop dreaming now. Or maybe not. The important thing is, I now have a different outlook on my future, and that is to never set goals. That way, I’ll never be disappointed in myself. So from now on, I’m just going to write if I feel like writing and not feel guilty if I don’t. Sometimes a dose of reality is good for you.
Wow. Who knew? I don’t even remember writing this. It kinda makes me sad, but at the same time, grateful. At the time I had no idea what the future would hold. But I can’t help but wonder if I had actually followed my dreams back when publishing was next to impossible–would I have never attempted it again? Who knows. Like Julia always says, never regret.
And here’s a sneak peek picture of my next blast from the past I’ll be posting. Apparently I was so bored the week my mother left for her seven-day cruise in 2009, I wrote her a play-by-play of what she missed while she was away. And what’s funny is, not a damn thing happened while she was gone, yet I managed to still write ten pages.