Soy Un Perdido

What an idiot! Me, I’m an idiot. I recently read a powerful piece of advice from a prominent agent, and now I cannot for the life of me find said post. But to paraphrase, she thought that one of the biggest mistakes writers make is worrying about the marketing/sale of the book before they write it.

I’ve been asking some folks who have kindly volunteered to by my crit partners what they’re doing. Meaning, who they are targeting. Not what they’re writing.

Cue “aha moment” music of your choice. Writing (for me) is a mysterious thing, and the person I am when I write is not at all the organized, leader type I have to portray at work or home. Ciar is very different than Terry. She taps into childhood thoughts and dreams, impossible visions, terrifying dread of death, old hurts, fond mental photos. When I f%^ck with that, I’m screwed. It’s why I’ve been so anchorless.

“I’m going to write a steampunk, or a cyberpunk, or a Harlequin this or that, or enter the Brava contest, or a romantic fantasy…” The list is endless, and none of them work for Ciar. Ciar must sit at the computer and get lost in the wonders of a confused psyche.

I’ve been screwing it all up. I’ve held back. “No one will want this. This is too x,y,z for an agent or Samhain or New York or…” Creative DEATH.

Just another spin of a dozen personal posts of self-absorbed angst. Hey, shut up, it’s my specialty.

How are you sabotaging your success?


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