I give up. I wrote my book, I marketed it (weakly) for a while, I really didn’t sell many books. I tell my self that I didn’t write the book for the money, and that’s good because I’ve spent way more than I made.
I put everything out of mind for a while. I started a new job and I told myself that I was done with writing. I even started some new hobbies. Or, at least, I looked into some new hobbies. I don’t have enough free time to actually do anything with them.
But now I’m thinking about story ideas again. It’s tough to give this up. I have ideas for a sequel to Michael Sanders and the Destiny of the Qori, but I think I need a break. Instead, I want to write something more grown up and funny. So now I’m collecting thoughts and daydreaming about a new novel in a new world with new characters and new adventures.
When I told my wife that I wanted to give up writing she laughed. When I told her I had new ideas she said that this is who I am. I liked that. She’s so great.
So why am I writing this now? Procrastination.