Someone recently asked me why I consider myself a struggling writer. “You’ve written two novels,” this person said, “most people never write any.” True. “You’ve published your stories on-line and had them downloaded more than 20,000 times.” Also true, though all but two downloads have been free.
So here’s why struggling: Firstly, read my last blog (if you can put up with the whining it contained). I struggle daily to find the time to sit down at the laptop and accomplish something (as I write this, I’ve only managed to put fingers to keyboard two or three times in the last two weeks. I blame this on a lack of coffee, not a lack of desire).
Secondly, while I claim the $2.82 I’ve made so far from my writing qualifies me as a professional writer (an author, if you want to sound more fancy-pants about it), it’s not quite enough to finance my planned career as a full-time writer (though I believe it’s enough to qualify me for a few extra write-offs on my taxes). Until I’ve achieved the levels to which I aspire (fame and fortune aren’t necessary, but a lack of a day-job is definitely a goal), I will continue to struggle to get what I want. Now, I have friends who believe that to be an artist, to be creative, there has to be struggle and adversity, that to be a true artiste, you have to starve. That ain’t me. I’m not going to starve, nor will I require my family to do so. My definition of struggle is to work my ass off no matter what might stand in my way: job, sleep, money, whatever. When you have a real desire and passion for something you will do whatever it takes.
Let the struggle continue.