"...Stay Drunk on Writing So Reality Cannot Destroy You."

Ray Bradbury said that, and I like it.

I do get drunk on writing. Painting isn't the same. I become a bit starchy, and frown a lot more, especially when my little treasures don't sell. Writing transports me. I resist returning to reality.

So I believe I will have to get back to that fifth book in the New Year. Which leads me to wonder why anyone else would be interested in that.

Before we all became so jaded about the publishing industry, there was such a sense of belonging and excitement reading writers' blogs. I was hungry to hear how others were doing, what their feelings were. (I also made a few new friends I've come to count on, some of whom are actually published.) But I believe there's been a distinct shift in thinking. It's tedious to hear, once more, that an agent hasn't been found, or that an agent was found but is finding the book a bit of a hard-sell. To sum up: nothing is happening. Who wants to read that on a regular basis? Masochists most of us are, but why make things worse?

People are split into two camps, it seems, judging by comments on other sites:

Those who love uplifting blogs, where the writer has just sold their first novel, and there's a mention of foreign rights, a TV movie, perhaps. And we know this blogger, don't we? Followed her all last year, didn't we? And now we can share in a little of the triumph.

And there are those who frankly enjoy a bit of misery. Hearing how terribly so-and-so was rejected, and how bitter he is about the whole process. Never going to write again. (Or worse, he's going to self-publish.) People so like reading this sort of thing, and it makes them feel less alone with their own frustrations, and possibly a whole lot better.

But blogs that are neither triumphant nor terribly, terribly poignant are just plain blah, let's face it.  And that's where mine is now. The only new thing  is that my agent (who has been in poor health) wrote that she is 'ready to get back in step and get this book (The Place of Dreams) sold, for heaven's sake!'

And so, in this last week of 2011, I wanted to let you know where my head is. I wanted to thank you for your readership and your comments over the past three years, despite the blahs. Oh, I've been gung-ho and rhapsodic at times, but Reality kicked in and now I need to re-immerse myself in the writing so that it can't destroy me.

My wish for all of us in 2012 is that we all get drunk together on our writing. And screw reality.

Thanks for the tip, Mr. Bradbury.

Selling Our Art - and Self-Worth

You may or may not know that I paint. Writing and painting have been plying me with their respective demands since I was a very small child. Over the years I discovered that my paintings had a market, and I picked up a small following of collectors for my naive (and sometimes not so naive) paintings. I remained a writer, but saw - and still see - how very difficult it is to get my particular fictional interpretation of my world into the hands of readers. Painting became my major pursuit. I've been told many times that my pictures are like little stories in themselves, and that makes sense to me as a writer. I don't ask you to examine the image for deeper meaning, but just to follow each story.

This, then, is why painting draws me back again and again, for its immediacy. Whether you buy a painting, or not, you'll perhaps see it, although the selling of it is the ultimate goal for the sake of validation.

I found I had to stop painting six months ago to Get Back To The Writing. I just don't seem able to manage both during the same period. The writing is sometimes painfully demanding, not necessarily a joyful pursuit, and of late I've felt the urge to paint again, because it is happy work. I mentioned this, if you recall, in an earlier posting.

The dilemma is that the writing will be neglected. I feel as if I am watching the imminent departure of an old friend. She is packing, getting her bits and pieces from the bathroom, preparing to leave for the airport. We sit waiting for her cab, trying to make bright small talk, but saddened by the effort. And so it is with my writing.

I am going to write today, determined to complete two more chapters this week. I'm hoping that this will push the painting bug firmly away for a bit longer. I'm not confident, really. Already I've started scribbling out my funny little sketches on scraps of paper. I've been thinking about really big canvases. (And I'm going to need more sealant, as the can I have has dried up.)

Go for it, you say. Paint away and be happy, you say. But here's the bad news. Art isn't selling. I've been looking, watching, researching for months now, and I can honestly say that we artists are hitting a bad patch. It's all very well for me to produce some charming little picture, amusing and colorful, but I need reassurance. That comes from selling. No sales, no encouragement.

If I'm sounding somewhat down today, I'm sorry. For me it's a double-whammy. It's terrible enough for those of us who produce paintings, or other artworks, knowing how difficult it is to sell, regardless of price. (Most of us have tried discounting to get our work out there.)

But for writers, it's the constant reminder, from blogs and news articles, of how poorly the publishing sector is doing. Everywhere I turn, I see some new comment on how very, very hard it is to sell our work.

And so, today, I confess I am discouraged. Artist, or writer, how do we maintain our enthusiasm for our work? It's all very well to acknowledge that just the act of creating is the point, and that we should be grateful to have that gift. But we are also sensitive and fragile, and we need concrete acknowledgment that our work has value.

I'd be very interested to know how some of you feel about this. It's a long posting, and even now I'm not sure I've expressed it completely - the way I'm feeling. Do you suffer from self-doubt when you have no feedback on your work, whatever form that work takes?

Please comment. I am in need of huge amounts of self-worth boosting.

Oh, and Boadicea seems to have gone on R & R. I could use some of her bravery about now...