But I just wanted to write.

With time and distance now separating me from a career as a painter, I can see more objectively how I sabotaged my potential to earn by often refusing to be part of the community. I just wanted to draw and paint. I didn’t want to be commercial, I didn’t want my art to become a business. I think I perceived my creativity as sacred and should not be sullied by the mundane. I was a snob.

That was years ago. In the last five to six years, I decided to explore writing. My first attempt was a memoir; the floodgates opened up to a new universe. I wanted to write. The thriller genre caught my fancy, and I let loose. Once I felt I had completed my first novel, I knew I wanted to have it published. When I say published, I mean I wanted to find a literary agent to sell my novel to a traditional publisher. I left that career as a painter behind, but I was still dragging around the notion that I neither had the time nor the inclination to promote my creations. I just wanted to write.

Now, it matters that I express myself with clarity. I do not consider promoting, advertising, and selling unworthy of my efforts, far from it. I feel inadequate in those fields, which is a truer statement. I feel overwhelmed by all that needs to be accomplished to get a book published and promoted. The idea of keeping track of sales, of ads, and all the other actions necessary to have a successful career as an indie writer frightens me into inaction. That is what happened when I was a painter. I painted, went broke, worked at odd jobs, then painted, and repeated that process for decades. I always avoided creating a business of my artistic efforts, and never got anywhere.

I want to, and I hope to change this pattern from now on. If I don’t receive an offer from the one or two publishers and the half-dozen literary agents to which I’ve submitted my novel by the time we move into our new home, I will opt for self-publishing. I will embrace taking control of my career.

Joelle