There’s a lady writer I know whose career has (sort of) taken off… and she’s trapped by it. Due to her moderate success, she has started to write like crazy in the belief that she has to publish at least four books each year to reach a wider audience.
Her first book was short of brilliant. She’s spreading herself too thin …what she writes these days is just watered down pap. It sells, indeed, but… at what cost?
I keep my mouth shut, withholding my opinion.
There’s this indie writer who is constantly self-promoting. He confessed me once that it only brought him in a couple extra sales each week, but what the heck. But he is addicted to those couple of extra sales, what can I do? He asks rhetorically. To me, he just looks like a guy chained to a Las Vegas slot machine, constantly pumping time and effort into a thankless machine that barely yields extra results.
I keep my mouth shut. I have no voice.
There’s this lady whose book series is having steady sales, enough for her to stop working. She has made the indie writer’s dream—or so she claims… Yes, the money has started to roll in, but, instead of sharing with her family all the spare time she dreamed of, she has immersed herself in a relentless routine each day. Two hours writing. Two hours marketing. Two hours scheduling all the book signings, cover artist meetings, interviews and all that jazz. Sometimes I ask myself, as if I were speaking to her: Is that the way you wanted it?
But I bite my tongue.
Indie writer; we have been blessed with a technology that has toppled the gatekeepers and has finally allowed us to reach our audience. But if this means that you will be writing increasingly bad books and slave yourselves to an everyday rat race to sell… well, my personal opinion is that you’re doing it all wrong.