Sometimes I feel like I’m getting nowhere with my writing career and that I exude this unlikeableness, which is a word I just made up.
Like, this is what my book sales look like:
Those numbers on the right? Those aren’t in thousands or anything. It’s just 50. I sold one copy last week, according to Nielsen (the same people who do TV show ratings). That’s miserable. I sold a whopping two copies (out of fifteen) at my last book signing. It was pretty humiliating.
I’ve tried really, really hard to move up in the freelance world. I’ve worked nonstop for the last three years (my first Cracked article’s three-year anniversary is in a few days) and I can’t seem to get anywhere at all. I did have a job for a whole month this past summer, but that obviously didn’t work out. I’d rather not be a security guard forever, especially since I plan to move soon and I’m going to have to look for a new job. It’d be nice to have a job I could take with me, but I’ve gotten turned down for so many writing/editing/etc. jobs that I’ve pretty much given up.
The only thing that seems to be going well for me is social media. Since I’ve started updating a few times a day over the last few months I’ve gotten hundreds of new followers and usually end up with several shares/reblogs/retweets and likes/favorites every day. So at least there’s that. And that’s basically pure fiction writing, which is what I really enjoy anyway. Unfortunately, it doesn’t pay the bills, but hey. Maybe someday. Hopefully I can keep you interested that long.
That brings me to the unlikeableness. I get along with my peers really well and make friends easily, but it doesn’t seem to translate into any sort of real opportunities, which leads me to believe that I just lack some sort of charisma when it comes to people I’m not talking to on a one-to-one basis. I know, I know. I make jokes about the occult on a daily basis. I’m lucky my own fucking laptop doesn’t give me a swirly. But sometimes I just get this impression that I come across as a jerk, and if I didn’t, I’d have a lot more chances to not work a $10 an hour job for the rest of my life.
So what I’m asking is do you like me, Internet? Because I like you, but this feels like beating my head against a brick wall sometimes, trying to get to the other side, and some other person walks up and immediately gets handed a sledgehammer while I’m still busting my ass and only have a fractured skull to show for it.