It’s the middle of the week and it’s summer, which means I have both the girls home with me. That also means this will be the only writing I get done today, at least until around eight o’clock tonight, and then I’ll probably be up until midnight because, you know, deadlines, money, all that shit.
I’m feeling a little nostalgic this morning and I started thinking about all the shit I cared about when I first started publishing that just doesn’t matter fuck all to me now.
- Social media. I just don’t care anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I like social media, I like seeing pictures of your kids, vacations and reading about all the stuff you find important. But, I’m happy as hell that the age of “author branding” is a thing of the past. Or maybe it’s still thing? Who cares.
- Having an agent. This was the holy grail. Getting an agent was pretty much on par with signing a book deal. Now, well, I make more money than most writers who have an agent, so what difference does it make? And don’t get me wrong, I dig agents, I know some really good ones. But, meh, if I need one, I’ll hire one. I just don’t consider it an accomplishment.
- Genre. I realize this will always be something young writers care about (or writers who have a chip on their shoulder), but holy fuck is it a boring argument.
- Education. Get your MFA, don’t get your MFA. Do whatever works for you.
- “I love it so much I would do it for free”. You shouldn’t love anything this much other than your kids or your partner. I like writing, some days I flat out hate it. But I will never, ever do it again for free. Unless it’s this blogging crap, but it’s mine.
- Getting bent out of shape about the “Big 5”, Amazon, traditional publishing, indie publishing, etc. Like I said about education, do whatever works for you.
- Bitching about being a writer. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. Seriously.
- Like I said, I’m feeling nostalgic today, so here’s some Tribe Called Quest.