I always though that authors spent most of their time writing. As a teenager, I imagined myself as a successful writer, wearing flowy, layered clothing while I worked in the comfort of my own home, or at a coffee shop surrounded by ambient noise, or on a camp chair overlooking some amazing natural view. I would write and write and write. I would edit and edit and send it back and forth to some seasoned editor and we'd bang out a fantastic story and it would magically appear in bookstores and on bestseller lists. For a change of pace, I would travel occassionally and talk about writing and my books.
So, is this reality? Yes, and no.
Yes I have had the opportunity to write in all kinds of wonderfully inspiring venues. But I've also got to spend a lot of my time writing emails, connecting with librarians and book sellers, updating social media sites (including this blog!), checking my sales stats, thinking up new ways to promote myself as an indie author. I have no agent, nobody working for me but me to make sure my work gets noticed.
This is all so new to me. I've only just begun.
But I've learned enough over the past year to know that my romantic visions of authorship are not reality. Like any job, its got its ups and its downs.
This is the part I like: writing a blog in a coffee shop on a Wednesday night, drinking rapidly cooling decaf coffee and eating a beautiful peanut butter chocolate brownie. It's just me and my words.
And it doesn't really matter if you are reading this or I am just writing into a void. The words are out of me now, floating around out there somewhere...
...And that's what counts.