Sunday, July 10, 2016

The Ugly Truth Behind Writing

It should go without saying...I've been to Hell and back in a matter of a few short years.

While this post will make a few cheer, I hope it will be a sober lesson for newcomers, and even season veterans.

I began writing as a way to use my imagination and help my family. At first, tales came to me. I was giddy stupid with all the excitement that comes along with the first acceptance. My hopes were high, my self-esteem bursting with endless possibilities, a creative future seemed to lay in store for me.

Being a newbie in 2012, I wasn't aware of all the pitfalls, potholes, or vipers. I didn't know the Ugly Truth. I didn't know that my path to riches was paved with daggers, joy and pain, or destroyers. I didn't know that my naive plan would cost me more than I'd ever make. I didn't know that my dreams would be smashed into a million pieces. I didn't know that the joy I got from writing would bring me the worst kind of pain imaginable. I had no idea that the world is truly as evil as it seems. And I damn sure never thought that my imagination would ever sour, or that I would find any reason in the world NOT to write. But that's what I've been doing for months. I've found every project imaginable in order to avoid writing. Even the thought of writing has curled my stomach, because nothing is there. My activities, by the way, have all been centered around my family and the farm. Rewarding? Hell yeah. I have found that I'm more at peace without the dog eat dog world I threw myself into. With each day, I'm beginning to remember all of things I once loved to do, all the things I tossed to the side, while I spent hours of my time writing, dreaming, hoping to make it.

I only took up writing as a way to use my crazy imagination with high hopes of helping my family. That's me above, overjoyed with my first acceptance.

To date, I've spent countless hours of my time promoting my books and writing new ones. All I have managed to accomplish is a lot of wasted hours. If I were to take my earnings based on hours labored, I dare to guess, but I suspect I'm working for mere pennies. No joke.

Maybe I can blame an evil scientist. A rouge bitch. The death of my mother. Maybe its a combination of a variety of variables. Who knows? But somewhere, at some time, I lost my love for writing. When I say writing, I mean writing as Hennessee, and all that comes with her. And I really hate it, because she is everything I can't be in my normal, and very mundane life.

The new, dog eat dog system, has opened the doors to oodles of writers that may have never had the chance to become published, get published, and a combination of this new world has flooded the market with thousands of books for readers to sift through. I love that it is possible, but I'm not willing, nor do I want to compete in the genre any longer.

I am not an asset to my family. I am a liability.

Let's face it. We are a dime a dozen. I can't, and won't, pump out a book every month in order to compete to make a few dollars. I really have other responsibilities. I refuse to write a bunch of junk monthly, shove it out, and hope to make money. I can't do that. I won't do that.

Maybe my muse is sluggish. Probably. I just can't keep up the pace, and to be honest, I've run out of sex scenes, and the desire to write more.

I truly want to be different. I want to write tales that are not only imaginative, but ones that truly help readers escape. I'm just tired of drama. I'm tired of the same worn out tales. I'm tired damsels in distress that need saving. I'm just plain tired of competing in a world full of the same ol' books. You know the type, the ones that are the same thing, re-told, re-imagined, with the same cover, different title. I'm sick of doms, shapeshifters, biker boyfriends, billionaires...add your own here. It's like breasts. If you've seen one pair, you've seen them all.

Many months of non-writing, of grieving, of suffering has brought me to this point. I've spent years trying to keep up, trying to to write a better love story, hoping that maybe one day my writing could be an asset to my family...all I received in return was debt (Vipers and all), depression, a feeling of hopelessness, one of loneliness, of despair, a loss of imagination, the will to write, and overall, the loss of me.

I've spent thousands standing up for myself, publishing my works, and hundreds of hours of my time competing in this world. My will and desire to compete are just gone. Poof! I'm tired of all of it. I just can't spend anymore of my time in the particular market I assigned myself to. And don't think for one minute that because I'm tired of seeing or writing certain genres, that readers are not. Write your tales, no matter the content, because there is an audience. Just be ready to compete.

The sad truth is this. Unless you can be the red tulip above, you won't pay the bills. It's really that simple. I've explored different genres in romance, and maybe I can't write, LOL. Sadly, many others cannot either, but managed to step into golden piles of shit. I'm used to avoiding piles of shit here on the farm, so maybe I stepped over the ONE. Who knows.

Four years. Sad to say, but overall, writing has brought me nothing but heartache to this point. I've met a lot of wonderful people. I've written some amazing tales, but in the end, I'm empty. Real fucking empty.

Not once in my life have I ever had to say, "I failed." But on this momentous occasion, I'm big enough to admit, that yes indeed, I failed. The worst part...all the hours of my life I can't get back. They're gone! All the wasted time and effort I could have used elsewhere. It's really pathetic.

And the saying, "Write because you love to write." Nope. Doesn't help. If you just love to write and DON'T care if you make money, give the tales to friends to enjoy. Writing a book, paying for publishing and editing, isn't a FUN hobby, or even a lucrative one. It's stupid.

Although I may have failed as Hennessee, I haven't failed at life or in love. Behind the scenes, I'm truly blessed with a fantastic husband, and two wonderful children. The last few months of non-writing has made me realize where my depression has been coming from, and its Hennessee. All in all, my life is really great. Writing, competing, and dealing with the ugliness that comes with writing is where my pain began and will end. It ends today...

I have a garden to tend to. A greenhouse to finally put up. A farm to tend to. And most of all, I have a family to tend to.

I may have failed, but I'm not a loser. I have more than many could ever hope for, and I'm not talking about money, I'm talking about the stuff that really counts, family.

And here it is, the lineup of books that didn't pay the bills. Thousands of hours went into creating this lineup as Hennessee. RIP Hennessee.

Eight Seconds

Damon: Texas Senator's Sons 1

Drew: Texas Senator's Sons 2

Drake: Texas Senator's Sons 3

A Hard Bargain

Safety in Handcuffs

Leather and Steel

Just Vamps

Tattoos and Cupcakes

Walking into Darkness

Reunion Blues

Macon's Story: Rough in the Saddle 1

Zander's Story: Rough in the Saddle 2

Warren's Story: Rough in the Saddle 3

Joe Ray's Story: Rough in the Saddle 4

Everett's Story: Rough in the Saddle 5

Austin's Story: Rough in the Saddle 6

Trevor's Story: Rough in the Saddle 7

A New World Order

Born Loser


Redneck Tale

Cougar Tale