But according to the handsome and hard-working Larry Correia, I should be treating this like a job.
Which I've done this year--I've penned thirteen stories since January and sent out nine of them; the other four are still in edits. I've tripled my wordcount from last year. I've sold four stories.
So why do I feel like I'm still spinning my wheels and faking it?
Maybe it's because my inbox has been woefully empty for nearly ten whole days. Maybe it's because I've scribbled 115,800 words in six months, and it's burnt me out. I realize that 115K words is, like, a weekend for someone like Larry, but it's a lot for someone like me, and I'm caught between awe that I managed it and and disbelief that those words are actually any good.
I guess that's something that I'll just have to grind through until I see a light at the other end.
In the interests of that, I'll be posting something, probably De-Wolfed Ben, up for the Usual Suspects pretty soon. Because this is my job, and I need to do it even though I'm not "feeling" it right now. My husband doesn't get to call into work and say "I'm just not feeling the Pilot Muse today, so I'm taking the day off." So neither do I.