Fear and Loathing in Head Spaces
Ask the most cheerful person on the planet and even they will admit, if they're being honest, that sometimes they have bad days. Hell, even those happy-go-lucky Smurfs get a little Blue now and then. (Yeah, I went there.) I'm generally a pretty laid back person. I try to stay optimistic. Even when things are rough, I try to keep my sense of humor. But sometimes bad days happen (or weeks in the case of last year), and those days hit hard.
Yesterday was a bad day.
Edit: I was about to go into the details of what happened yesterday, but that's not really the point. Lets just say: sick + pain + bills + disappointment + random news reports + stress = CRJ goes off the rails.
Here's where this gets relevant for the purposes of this blog:
As an independent author, creative person (writer), and official Introvert (INFJ on the Meyer-Briggs, baby!), I spend a lot of time inside my own head space. When that head space gets cluttered with negativity, things tend to go badly for me as a whole.
Where I can typically look at the natural decline in sales numbers since the book's launch and acknowledge that it's a normal part of the cycle, panic instead steps in and screams "We're never going to make our money back, you incompetent tit! We're going to end up homeless and starving!"
Where I can typically plot my next blog or plan an event to try and get more exposure, depression punches me in the face and says, "You're way out of your element, kid. You have no idea what you're doing. You're failing. Give up."
Where I can usually justify expenses for marketing or advertising efforts (or, you know, lunch), anxiety looks at me with that condescending, shitty little attitude and says, "Really? Have you checked the reports lately? How are those efforts working out for ya so far?"
Yesterday was the peak of that negative head space. If I'm honest, it's been building for a while. Doubt, fear, anxiety, depression, and desperation all backed me into the corner and took their swings while I was already feeling down physically. I felt like I was deluding myself. I felt like the successes I had accomplished so far didn't matter. I felt like it was time to let my dreams go and let this be a one and done bucket-list publish. I felt like I couldn't handle... well, much of anything at that point, to be honest. I felt like saying "to hell with it," going to bed (at 6 pm), and getting up so I could go out and start applying for "real jobs that at least pay something."
Instead, I prepared my bills and went on a walk to deliver them. I was in a bad enough space that I almost cut the walk short a couple of times and went home, but I stuck it out. I didn't necessarily feel better when I got home, but, looking back on it, finishing that 3(ish) mile walk was an important victory. I took a shower and went out for dinner (which I wouldn't have done if I hadn't completed the first two steps). I sat there in the restaurant, eating my salad, still miserable and brooding, when a friend sat down with me. She asked if I was ok, and I admitted that I wasn't. She then said she'd been wanting to catch up with me all week because she wanted to buy my book. I told her I had a copy in my car (Thanks James and Susanne!). We talked a bit as I finished my dinner, and then we went out to get the book. I signed it, and we discussed the book and what my plans were for the series. By the time I went back inside to pick up some things in the adjoining gas station, I realized I wasn't necessarily back to 100%, but I certainly felt better mentally.
That one interaction where the writer's spark got lit was enough to shine light on the dark spaces within my head. This was a huge revelation for me. Being a writer may be a source of a lot of my stress right now, but it's also the first job I've ever had that the passion I have for it is enough to relight the fires within me instead of snuff them out completely. I may have felt like crap, but I was still able to find the energy to get excited by and talk about my writing.
Today I got up feeling significantly better. I went out and had lunch, secured a signing and sales event for June 24th, talked to a local reporter about having an article done about the book in the paper, and unwittingly sold two copies of the book in the process. All the while, that fire inside kept getting bigger, and I kept feeling more confident about my decision to be a writer. I walked through the fires of my own personal hell and came out stronger on the other side. That doesn't happen doing a job you don't actually like. Believe me, I know from experience.
Don't get me wrong, being an author isn't easy. It's not all signing books and typing with excitement and focus at a computer while the theme to "Murder She Wrote" plays in the background (I love Angela Lansbury). Being an independent author, with nobody there to tell you what your next step should be or to help set up your promotional campaign, is especially not easy (None of this shit was in the brochure, man!). But what I learned from this experience is that, when you're doing what you're meant to do and following your passions, you find a way. It may be frustrating, it may be disheartening at times, but ultimately, you find a way to make it fall into place. From there you just take the next step forward, then the next step, and pretty soon you look back and see that you've come a lot further than you realize. That is the power of passion. That is the fire within.
