I don’t know if you believe in fate or not, if you believe in a predetermined order of things. If you believe we’re all puppets on strings, and some higher consciousness is controlling our actions. Maybe you think free will is an illusion, and, in a way, you’d be right to think that.
Because, whether or not you like it, society, as in everyone who has the power to influence our lives, is constantly trying to “guide” us. It’s how this world has functioned ever since we invented civilization. Everyone around you is trying to help you into becoming who they need you to be.
Not who you want to be, not who you’ve always dreamed of being, but who they need you to be in order for them to be who they want to be.
It’s not complicated or great or sad. It’s just how things work.
But what if you want more? What if you don’t feel like giving up without a fight? What then?
I’ve been wanting to be a writer ever since I was 13 years old. And I wrote and wrote and wrote, and I read a lot of books, and I’ve made a fool out of myself countless times. I’ve got bad reviews, I’ve received hate e-mails. I’ve been told to give up by friends and family. And I’ve nearly starved to death on a more than one occasion.
But I didn’t give up, because I knew what I wanted to do, and I knew how precious and rare this is: to know what you want from life, to have one big, crazy dream. Most people don’t really have that, and even few have the courage to do anything other than dream about it.
And I was more than willing to give everything up in order to make my dream come true.
This summer, when book sales were at their lowest ever since I started this blog in April 2012, I decided to work part-time as a waiter. It wasn’t a part time job, actually, because I was working for 12 hours almost every day. But they pay certainly was part-time.
And, you know, every motivational speaker tells you to never give up. That you have to fight hunger, exhaustion… all that is a test of how bad you really want something. So I spent a couple of night writing blog posts, essays, stuff like that. Until I was almost falling asleep at work, which in turn almost got me fired.
So I couldn’t write anymore.
If you’re not an artist, and if there was never a time in your life when you weren’t allowed to do your thing, you can’t imagine how terrible this fate is. It’s like prison, I suppose.
You can’t do what you love. It’s something outside of you that’s doing all that, that’s controlling your movements. It honestly feels like you’re a puppet on a string.
So I quit. Simple as that. Without thinking about rent or bills or money for food. I just wanted to be able to write, and to finish editing my second big release for this year (something I’ve promised folks for a long time.)
I wanted to do all that, but I didn’t really think it through, mostly because sometimes I like to believe thinks work out. Somehow, things work out.
But they didn’t. I tried running promotions, offering huge discounts to ad options, and offering an e-book bundle that was 4 times cheaper than it should have been.
To no avail.
That’s why I have no other option but to rely on your help. If you enjoy this blog, if you think the stuff that I write is not useless, you can now help me out by donating here.
Francesca, Soriya, Brent, LaMarr, Diana, and all the others have contributed so far a total of $305. Thank you!
If the situation wouldn’t be critical, I wouldn’t ask you for your help.