Why 2018 was an Endless Summer

Happy Labor Day!

Labor Day marks the "official" end of summer, though the season will linger on for a few more weeks, at least according to the calendar, as will the barbecues, shorts, sandals, and outdoor activities.

But for many it's a time when the kids go back to school and we start gearing down for the chillier days and nights ahead. Winter is, indeed, coming.

Labor Day is also a time of reflection, as another Season of the Sun passes out of our lives. For me, Summer 2018 was a summer of change, of reflection, of fielding curve balls, of re-determining direction, of a win or two, but many, many losses. Some that are still lingering with me.

Where summers are usually fleeting and bright, 2018 was an Endless Summer, and sadly, not in a positive way. I've made promises to get more books out. It didn't happen. I made commitments to do certain things and go certain places. I didn't do those things or go those places. I sometimes felt so completely defeated and heart-heavy, I didn't know if I could -- or if I wanted to -- continue to do this author thing.

Maybe it will be simpler if I just recap:

Summer 2018: What I Thought Would Happen

I'd publish three more books
I'd invest a good percentage of time promoting those books
Inherit the Stars (the filly we bred and raised) would start her racing career
I'd attend RWA for the first time in six years
I'd get to meet peers in Denver who had long been online friends
I'd start working on my next major release--the "Book of my Heart" *sigh*
It would be a fabulous, productive summer!


Summer 2018: What Really Happened (or The Real Life Version)

In late April, we lost our Lab Misty to cancer. We'd had her since she was 6 weeks old.
Grief ensued. It was a herald of the summer to come.

Also in April, we sent our fabulous mare Blaze to be bred to a promising young stallion. Her full sister produced a running champion in 2017. We had high hopes!
In May, our homebred 3YO Stars was diagnosed with an as yet undetected breathing disorder.
After rejecting an optional risky surgery, Stars was retired without running a single race.
What looked to be a very promising career was never going to happen.
Much sadness followed.
Also in May, "Cockygate" erupted in the publishing industry.
Much angst and teeth-knashing followed for many weeks.
There was a lashback -- a lot of bad blood arose among writers.
Conversely, a rush of authors attempted to trademark common phrases.
Most indies were furious, disillusioned, shaking in their boots, or all three.
I was one of them.
A hearing on June 24 was the beginning of the end of Cockygate.
[In case you somehow missed the drama, Google it or read this summary]
On the heels of Cockygate, authors were struggling with other issues:
Click-farms. Disappearing page reads. Mystifying closures of accounts by a big vendor.
And in most cases, a complete lack of response, recourse or re-compensation.
Many authors announced they were quitting--too many bads; too few goods.
I was one of the authors who seriously considered doing the same.
In late June, our mare Blaze returned from the breeding farm, not in foal and in very bad shape.
Blaze spent over five weeks in our vet's care, but continued to decline.
Blaze's vet expenses required me to cancel my trip to RWA 2018 in Denver.
I lost the chance to meet the Brigade RWA group I'd been chatting with for months.
I forfeited my hefty registration fee.
Meanwhile, RWA members reacted to RWA's summary on the state of the Golden Heart.
They talked about why the competition was so important to so many unpublished authors.

They talked about how the experience couldn't be replaced.
In late July, the RWA board announced the 2019 Golden Heart would be the last.
I was crushed. I can't begin to explain what this loss meant. The Golden Heart did so much for me, both career and confidence-wise, and I gained many peers because of it.
It will be the very sad end of a wonderful era for authors-to-be.
On August 5 we visited Blaze one last time, and it was clear she was losing her battle.
On August 6: Rest in Peace, Blaze. It was cancer.
Our wonderful, successful, beautiful Blaze was gone.

More heart-wrenching grief ensued.
On August 8, we sold Stars to a young barrel racer.
We couldn't give her the second career she deserved, but we found someone who would.
Goodbye to our baby, Stars. :'(

End result of this summer of strife...
I couldn't summon the emotional focus to write or publish anything.
Not just excuses. Just life.

Since I opted out of Pets in Space 3 this year (in hindsight, probably a good thing for my mental health), I also realized that although I've published something new every year since my debut in 2015, because of the nature of the Pets in Space collections being limited releases, my 2016 and 2017 books are no longer available -- Poof! Zap! -- as if they were never there at all. As if I hadn't published anything since 2015.

And I was painfully aware that slowly...and certainly...my author name was fading from the readers' collective consciousness.

These long (endless) months of turmoil and loss and depression resulted in a mental struggle for me, deciding if I wanted to continue as an author at all. Is it worth all the time and effort and aggravation and grief and stress that happens as a result of the actions of others, algorithms gone seriously awry or what feels like the cruel whimsy of the industry....all while coping with just plain life? Could I weather the horrendous time-sucking learning curve required to continue as an indie author?

It isn't the first time I'd been here, but it was definitely the longest I'd mulled and pondered, and the closest I'd ever come to throwing in the towel for good.

But...

I was born a writer. I will always write. And I'd really like to share my stories, as difficult as the current industry makes that for small indie authors. But maybe, I thought, I could just write for me. Only write for fun and post it to my blog or to a free site like Wattpad. Yet doing so would, firstly, narrow my audience to a handful of readers, and secondly, expose my work to the high risk of being ripped off and published as someone else's work. (As if my books weren't already being pirated--frequently and relentlessly.)

Did any of that even matter anymore?

I continued the soul-searching of why I write. Or more accurately, why I want to continue. For money? Ha! Truly, a joke. I'm lucky to cover expenses. For fame? Hahahahahaha. No. I am a single face in a sea of millions, one quiet voice in a noisy multitude. And in truth, I never feel comfortable in the limelight. I don't want the equivalent of a Hollywood Star of Fame.

The reason I write is that writing brings me joy. Creating worlds and people and characters and conflict is a method of expressing myself. It centers me and allows me to communicate in a way and at a level that isn't otherwise available to me. And if I keep these stories to myself, there's no communication. I want to share them. Because there are others out there that my books might speak to, others who may need a chance to escape -- Escape to the Stars -- for a few hours of their lives.

What really matters to me is that someone finishes one of my books and thinks to themselves, "Wow. That was a great story!" or "Holy cow. That really made me think." Or that my stories or characters or worlds gave them hope, or will linger on inside them as a part of their life experiences or fond memories.

With that realization, my choice was made. I must keep writing. I still have so many more stories inside me. So many worlds that have long existed within my head and been a part of my life. For me, it's personal.

But most of all because I love -- and have always loved -- to write. It's who I am. And I won't let this heartless industry take that away from me.

Going forward, I will allow myself concessions. I'll tell my stories in my own time and at my own pace. I'll give myself the latitude I need to tell them in the way I see fit and let go of the pressure of expectations and writing "inside the box" as well as dates and schedules and timelines.  I'll continue to write and publish as long as my mind and health and mental state allow me to do so. Quietly. And without a lot of broadcasting and hoopla. Head down. Hands on keyboard. Butt in chair. Ignoring the negatives. Embracing the positives. Reminding myself, daily, why I do it.

It's Labor Day 2018, and it's been an Endless Summer. But I'm still here.

See you next week.