I wrote a post earlier today only to delete it. It was simple: just a graphic that said Happy Mother’s Day. Then I realized I was only posting it so I had something to post.
Not the way to blog, to be honest. I’m too old to play games like that.
So I’m going to blog about the state of affairs that is Liz Durano, the brand.
For the past few weeks (or months), I’ve been going through an identity crisis of sorts. Who is Liz? What type of stories does she write? What does she want out of this whole writing gig?
Like many authors, I’d like to sell more books. More books mean more income. And so at the beginning of the year, I set out to join projects that seemed wonderful at the time for the sole purpose of making “more money.” The projects were easy. Write X number of words, follow an outline to a letter, and assign the marketing to a third party to handle since the projects would also go under a different pen name, not Liz’s.
Only it didn’t turn out as easy as I thought it would. Before long, I started failing deadlines, both for my own books and the side projects. When I did write my own books, they were lackluster and rushed. So rushed. When I wrote the side projects, I couldn’t even tell you who the characters were because I. Did. Not. Give. A. Shit. About. Them.
I ended up not writing for weeks. Sure, I’d “write” but only to meet a word count, not to write a good story. Writing for the word count sucks donkey balls. Writing to market is my Waterloo and it was slowly killing my love for storytelling.
So this month, I finally told myself it was time to quit.
At the moment, except for the Steamy Shorts, the other side projects are no more. I hated having to quit them but I hated failing more. I hated not having anyone to tell all this to because I knew I was letting so many people down. But it was eating me from the inside out to the point that I could not finish writing the simplest story. Not even one.
And through all this, I was not kind to myself. The self-talk was all negative. You’re a loser. You’re a failure. You are a terrible writer.
Then yesterday I decided enough was enough. I had to stop the negative self-talk. I had to stop comparing myself to others.
I had to find my happy, and so I did. The kid and I went to the pool and later, to the beach where a beautiful boxer dropped her ball at my feet waiting for me to throw it for her.
It was at that moment I decided to be happy. I even wore purple. And I got sunburned. But that’s okay.
I’m back in the game with a lot less baggage.
Even better, little by little, word by word… I’m writing again.
And this time, I’m loving it.