That's Thomas fucking Edison.
WARNING! Pity party!
Okay, okay, let's get this out of the way. Book sales for the month of December are a grand total of 8. Where are all my brethren (Jews) when you need them? We're out 8 days here and you couldn't find it in your dark little hearts to spring for a book this Hanukkah? A little something something for your good behavior? And what about you, Goyim? Hmm? I know a shit ton of you. Put me on your lists. Santa, like the honey badger, don't care.
Never give up. Have you ever? Or have you said, "What is this fuckery?" and simply stuck with it? I know people dealing with their demons, whether it be health, money, blood flow to certain organs (not even) - we all have the struggles.
I can honestly say the only thing in my life I have had to constantly struggle against is mental health. I'm bipolar (the mild kind, bitches. Full blown bipolars call their wives the next day from Peru, standing on the yak farm they just purchased) and I have had my bouts with it that plunged me into some serious darkness. But I had choices. Stay down there and bathe in the depression and anxiety or seek help - live a regimented life that includes exercise (Me? Believe that shit?), proper diet (Again, me?) and positive thinking (shut up). Also, drugs.
I never gave up on the life I knew I could have and those I could share it with.
But seriously, 8 fucking books?
I guess I should take the attitude that 8 complete strangers plucked down a buck to read a story I wrote that might enhance their life in a positive, entertaining way. But sometimes, it feels futile. Who am I among the millions writing novels that I should break out, make a name for myself - obtain a level of success worth boasting about at dinner parties for your wife's co-workers? Not that they're bad parties it's just that they're doctors and basically talk about colonoscopy technique. They don't, but it would be awesome if they did.
What did I expect? Rapid success (yes)? What qualifies as success? I've sold about 1,500 books to date. Chump change, but then I can't think of anything I've done that reached that many people - except all the years of bad advertising I did that were thrust upon the masses. No thrusting in novel writing. They gotta want it.
So? What do I gain by giving up? You know the answer to that as did Thomas Edison did - who by the way, in his later years consumed only a pint of milk every three hours. So y'know, batshit and success go hand in hand.
