A writer is one who writes. I have believed this forever, but the last few weeks have made me think again.
I’ve been writing, yes, but ALL of my writing is follow-ups or thanks for reviews, guest posts and emails.
I’ve realised that a writer is also a hustler. In my case, I’m hustling for Project WHY and Stop Acid Attacks, the non-profits where my proceeds will go, but that’s still hustling, and the fact that I’m able to donate my proceeds is a privilege.
Finding the writer within
In all of this, I seem to have lost that curious, lumbering creature who could write stories at the drop of a hat. Whenever that part of me wants to come out, I sush it, and sush it well. Because there’s more book promotion to be done.
It is nice to receive validation, have people tell me what they thought of the book, have it sell, make bestseller lists.
But that book is not me, and though I haven’t yet once said ‘buy my book’ to anyone, I feel like that’s all this is all about.
Where’s the writing, dammit?
I wrote this post a few days ago, and it received a gazillion comments.
I have been shortlisted for a food writing award, of all things.
I have a bunch of reviews on Goodreads, and on Amazon, here, here and here.
None of it though gives me what an hour of shutting out the world with a pen on paper might. I’ve tried to get back to my discipline of writing every day, but misery-me, have I failed.
So in lieu of writing–more hustling. If you’re on Instagram, here’s a worldwide giveaway of my book, with a simple (not) question: Who are you beneath your skin?
Here’s the first chapter of my book.
And yes, of course, my book trailer, below.