Over the last week or so, I’ve started calling this new thing I’m doing my Post-Production Period. In my head, “making a living as a writer” has always involved a lot of writing. Every day. Something new. I can do that. Not for very long, mind. My whole life has been a lot of writing. Every day. Something new. I was just never any good at the selling part.
Over the next year or so, “making a living as a writer” is going to involve a lot of taking words I’ve already got and turning them into products. According to my spreadsheets, I’ve written more than a million words across media and genre, and that’s only counting what’s typed. I also have two bookshelves stacked with notebooks. Words, I have. Books, I do not.
Is it failure I’m afraid of, or success? I go back and forth, which, I think, is one of the definitions of anxiety. But there’s something big and dark in my head which keeps me from putting more of my words out into the world. As long as I was writing, I could call myself a writer. But I was treating it like a hobby, while calling it my job. Now I know the writing is the easy part. I have to learn how to make money.
My 2019 spreadsheet will be counting products, not word count. Maybe the better name for this period is Post-Writing.