Living La Vida Loca!

Do you know how many books were published last year???? Do you??? I should have checked so that I could spout out some association that keeps track of these things: Bookwire, Book List, Bowker, whoever the heck makes  living from shilling this information to writers.  I do know that an estimated 170,000+ books were published this year (source: Books, Buzz and Balls) . More will probably be published this year, but not by publishers, by authors themselves.  With such odds stacked against you, why would anyone want to be a writer?  I wonder that often as I feel the ground shift beneath my feet, a signal of impending doom.  This signal happens at least every other day.  You find out that something, somewhere in the universe has changed and all of the hard work that you did to get you to a certain point in your career doesn't mean anything.  You learn that the writers on the best seller lists haven't changed in eons.  You learn the writers on the best seller lists only made $5.00 that year.  You learn that dead writers outsell living writers . . .  and that universe law prevents you from re-killing them just so that you can have a chance at a career.   Need I say more because I can.  The list goes on.  Consider, with all the crappy reality shows out there helping singers, movie makers, comics, cooks, porn stars, you still won't find anyone who wants to do a reality show about writers.  We're too boring.  It takes dedication to peck at a computer all day long, send your work off to a publisher who will only respond if you're related to a celebrity who just happens to be hot, hot, hot at the moment.  Oh, don't tell me it's about the quality of your writing.  They're lying to you!  If they respond at all, they're demi-gods, kind and nurturing.  The publishing gods don't want you to know that they can't sell your book because there are 60,000 other people out there pushing and pushing and our attention spans have gone past the breaking point to the broken point.  You could be the next big thing, but it doesn't matter.  Let's face it, anyone who dares to believe that they can find happiness as a writer is living la vida loca.  Why la vida loca - which means the crazy life?  Because the writing life will make you think you're crazy.  That's why writers have the highest incidence of mental illness.  Some of us, however, were born crazy, or we're driven by an uncontrollable urge to write.  That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.  So, if you want to live the writing life, I've got just a few tips:

1.  Don't take it seriously.

2.  Don't take it personally.

3.  Don't quit your real job--the one that pays the bills.

4.  Be prepared to be an obnoxious promoter of yourself, worse than David Hasselhoff, worse than Paris H. and her sex tape, worse than, well, anyone that you see on www.tmz.com. And that's www.BAD.com. (BAD.com is not a real web site.  It's one of those, ha! You're lost loser web sites).

5.  Change your name.  Really. Go from Suzie to Bob.  Sally to Shari.  Whatever.  You think your writing is good.  Other, less partial people may not agree.  By anonymous is sometimes better than by Me. Myself. I wrote it.

6.  Finally, join a nuthouse, I mean, writers group.  These are people who may not buy your book, but at least they'll listen to you read.  I'm in a great writers group.  I have, however, been in writers groups where the worst of the worst insist on reading stories that they have no intention of ever trying to sell.  They just want you to tell them that they're good, which they're not, so you lie.  

By the way, this is a rant -- in a humorous vein, of course. I know you know, but I well stating the obvious is what I do. And I've barely scratched the surface of obvious.  Now, only one question remains, if you've read through this whole thing and you're still here, why haven't you bought one of my books, or at least one of my other ancillary products yet? I've figured it out.  We writers are just glorified sales people who actually have to work.  It's a bummer, but what can you do?

Smoochy-smoo!

Mechelle