For about a year and half recently, I didn’t write anything. I didn’t have to, since the Camaro books are coming out and I’m contractually bound to publish those and only those for the nonce, but given what I’ve said about writing every day, I really ought to have been working. But, you see, I forgot the most important thing about writing: you have to love it.
I know writing isn’t like working in a coal mine, but it’s still hard work. It’s harder work than it has any right to be, and it’s easy to decide not to bother. This is doubly true if you’re writing things you don’t want to write, or are writing in a way which doesn’t make you happy. I was in that spot.
While the Camaro books were released, I wrote three books. None of these books will see the light of day because, quite frankly, they aren’t the books I would have chosen to write. I wrote them either because I felt they catered to an audience, or in such a way that would please that audience, not because they satisfied me as an author.
Not everything you write is going to sell. Not everything you write is going to be salable. The important thing is that whatever you write is what you want to write, and written the way you want to write it. Anything else is a failure on every level. Even if you do end up making a jillion dollars, it’s not worth the heartache. You have limited time on this earth, and few enough opportunities to write books. Don’t waste any of these writing anything which doesn’t fulfill you, no matter what anyone says.
These days I write what I want. I write it the way I want to. I don’t care if it’ll sell, or if anyone will even want to read it. That’s not my concern. My job is not to sell, it’s to write. Wanting to sit at the keyboard day after day and put in the work is all that matters.