I should probably ought to get a computer with a proper keyboard to write this, instead of pecking it out on my iPhone, but I already bring the iPhone to bed with me, and I’m already in bed… So that’s that, I suppose. Anyway, so:
My life doesn’t suck. I have a stable job that doesn’t stress me out most of the time, my boss recently commended me on not working too fast, because literally every other person in the department has cost the company money while trying to exceed production goals. I decided a couple/few months ago that to avoid stress I’m better off just trying to do my best on every booking and maintain a steady pace of work; like driving, you don’t really get that much ahead by driving agressively and ignoring the rules.
I got another book edited, laid out, and set up with my new printer. I know Dragons’ Truth is a few years old and has been available through Cafepress, but it’s good to be doing it “right” now. You can order it through any book store, and it’s listed at most online retailers along with my other three books. I’ve been working on getting Worth 1k — Volume 2 together and online this month (maybe this week; I just need to finish tweeking the cover and the end matter), and then I’m going to do a big order of books to take around to all the independent booksellers in town and see about getting on store shelves. If I can get myself to actually do that, it’ll be as big a step as anything else I’ve done re: books. For some reason, it’s harder for me than writing them.
My grandfather is sick and only getting worse. This week my younger brother, Heath, has driven him to California to see the ocean for the last time. As fast as I’m told his skeleton is being eaten by the cancer, there won’t be much left of him for very long. Doesn’t mean he won’t just keep on keepin’ on, of course. It’s difficult for me, emotionally, to be aware of it all- as is to be expected, I suppose. Death and pain and loss are life, too. I expressed some of this better in W1k-v2, I think.
I’m a terrible friend. This isn’t news to my friends, but it’s fairly accurate. I feel useless. Inept. Flabbergasted, at times. Friends in hospitals, friends getting surgeries, friends facing depression, friends going through life changes, trying to turn their lives around, and me? Where am I? Not there, often silent or worse: self-centered and needy. And when I think about this very deficit, my reaction tends to be to distance myself further, to move to silence, and that is a very difficult force to work against.
Financially, I am either digging myself into a hole or investing in the future of my publishing company. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether I’ve simply got an expensive hobby or I’m terrible at business. Could be both, I suppose. In roughly 7 months of business so far, on $1.99 in revenue, Modern Evil Press has had a net loss of nearly $2k so far. On wait, that’s just the books. With art sold and art supplies in the same period, the revenue goes up to about $186 and the loss stays about the same. The trick, I suppose, is in finding an audience for my books of at least 1,000 folks, eh? On well. Or switch to art and give up on writing.
Giving up: now there’s something I can get behind.