I have been writing for fourteen years now. More than half of my time on this planet. And I’ll keep doing this until they’ll plant me in the ground and throw dirt on top of me.
First story I ever shared with someone – I posted it on an online forum when I was fourteen – there wasn’t a single positive comment. Someone said I should try some other hobby, someone said I was either a retard or fourteen years old. I chose not to listen. I kept writing. I read even more books.
First book I ever self-published – back in January 2011 – I sold 2 paperbacks and 2 e-book copies in three months and called it quits. I deleted my first blog because no one was reading it. I spent a few months without writing a single word.
When I decided to give it another go, in April 2012, I sold 3 copies of a short story an earned a grand total of $1.05.
I’ve lost count of the times I tried and tried to make irevuo popular.
I worked sixteen hours a day for two weeks on the first and only issue of a digital magazine that got some hundred or so downloads.
I worked on this blog, every single day, for the last six years.
I am currently writing anywhere between five to ten posts a day on irevuo.
Editing all my novels, writing new stuff…
I write and I write and I write. And I never, ever give up.
I never let the bad things that happen to me shape my view of the world, or make me compromise myself. Yes, you read that right. I do not wish to compromise myself and give up on my dream or settle for less than what I want.
I am going to keep writing, no matter what. Come hell or high water.
People think perseverance is kind of dumb. They think that success is any given field ought to be determined by some mystical alignment of the stars, or some god-given ability, or luck, or knowing the right people, or being born into the right family.
My father went bankrupt when I was eighteen years old. He stole money from me, and then never spoke to me again.
I wasn’t born into this. No one in my family writes. They don’t even read the stuff I write.
But I keep doing it.
Because it’s my dream. Only mine. And I choose if I want to make it come true or not. No one else has any say in the matter.
Imagine you’re driving to a certain destination. Maybe you’re with some friends, maybe you’re all alone. Maybe you enjoy the company you have, maybe not so much. But you reaching your destination has anything to do with the people in your car? Aren’t you the one in control? Aren’t you the only one who decides when you arrive at your destination, how fast you travel, and all that?
We are the masters of our souls, yet we do everything we can to exempt ourselves from this responsibility.
A sad truth.
I will keep on writing because this is my purpose, this is what makes me come alive, and this is what I want to die doing. End of story!
If you want to help this crazy Romanian kid with the last part of his medical treatment, you can donate any amount you see fit here.
$1,200 left to raise.
You can also purchase advertising, signed paperbacks, and a lot more here.