Giving up writing

I don’t talk about this much, but sometimes I want to stop writing. Days like today.

I don’t think people realise how much goes into an author’s small business. Not just the money, though there’s a butt-load of that. Money I didn’t earn and don’t deserve, of course. Money that, if wasn’t being wasted on my dreams, would go to my children. We’d certainly have our own home by now. I don’t want to think of what else we’d have—what else my family have given up—because of my failure to thrive.

I was told as a kid that being an author is a side hustle, not a job. But I was too stupid to listen. I never trained in anything else, because I’ve never wanted anything else. I always thought if I worked hard enough, I could achieve anything.

It took me two years, start-to-finish, to produce Elton’s Song. But you can’t just be like “here’s this cool book, here’s what it’s about” and have people buy it. Even when it’s exactly the type of book you know they read. No. You need to write a free book that they can ‘get to know you’ through first. And you have to bribe them—sorry, reward—their pre-orders. It’s necessary to create a steady stream of content. Free stuff. So they don’t forget you in between releases. So they trust you with their hard-earned money.

Never mind the fact they pay more per day for their coffee which will last them fifteen minutes, than they will for your book which will last them several hours – more if they’re a slow reader. If you want to charge more than a cup of coffee you’re ripping people off, but if you don’t charge enough obviously the book is shit. If it was good it wouldn’t be so cheap, right?

It takes the average person between seven to twelve times of seeing an advertisement or hearing about a product to actually buy that thing, but if you talk about your books half that much people get annoyed and block you.

And you can’t even complain about it because some well-meaning ass is going to be like “Just write for yourself; you don’t have to publish.”

Yes, I should totally spend thousands of dollars to populate my bookshelf with books that no one else gets to enjoy; that totally solves the problem. I bet you’d love to do that with your job too – just do it for free, in your spare time after work, instead of having fun. I wonder why everyone doesn’t just do that?

So I put the work in. Even when my kids are annoyed that I’m not doing something fun with them. Even when mates are asking to play video games with me. Even when all my writing mates are off enjoying non-writing things.

I don’t generally complain about writing. I love writing. Why the fuck would you be a writer if you could be happy doing anything else? You wouldn’t! I love drafting and revising, finding the funny notes I left for myself or that scene that was masterfully written. I love getting notes back from my critique partners and editors, even when the sheer amount of work ahead makes me cry. I love seeing my covers for the first time and that thrill when it’s finally ready. That pride that I made this thing from nothing and it’s legitimately good.

The part I hate is that there are more people in this world who read my drafts than who ever buy the finished product. I hate wondering how long I can go on making these books that no one wants. At what point am I doing a disservice to my family by choosing over and over again to be a burden?

If people were reading these books, being helped by my stories, feeling seen and uplifted… my time would be worthwhile. But at this point, I’m just being selfish. Wasting my household’s resources and my own time.

I wish desperately I could stop writing. But I don’t know how to be myself—be sane—without it.

Thanks for listening.

Miriam Cumming has been publishing YA fantasy for four years, and needs to cut hirself some slack for not being famous yet. When ze’s not writing, Miriam enjoys building lego and Ikea furniture; playing video games and stickers; and sipping lattes on hir balcony.