Feeling Bitchy?

Writing is hard.

Harder than anything I've ever done...including birth. Now, I may have been the lucky recipient of two C-sections, so my view is a little skewed. There were no long hours of labor or pushing out watermelons. I had nice drugs and little pain, even with the emergency C-section. It was...not terrible.

Writing is hard.

For reasons I can't even list sometimes. Self-publishing...is even harder. Not only do you have to write the book, characters, story, create a world, edit, re-edit, and hope to God your thoughts and voice comes across the page in some semblance of understandable, you have to do everything else as well.

Advertising...

Holy shit is there not a more annoying word in the dictionary. I am not good at advertising. In fact, even when I have paid for it, I still manage to suck at it.

Book Covers...

Not nearly as terrifying...but ultimately time consuming. Hours...days have gone by to needless flicks of the mouse in Photoshop. I could write novels in the time I've spent doing the self-publishing side of writing. The hours of tweaking my blog, or formatting for Kindle.

I hate self-publishing. It is the most thankless job I've ever done. Worse than cleaning bathrooms with three boys in the house. Worse than the vomit, diarrhea and spit up involved with infants. My God do I hate it...but I also love the control. There are no deadlines (this is both good/bad really) I am my own worst enemy. I procrastinate...waste time. Stare at Facebook, Goodreads, blogger...etc.

I have no Boss. I am the Boss. I should fire myself. I am not good a self promotion. I hate talking about my writing. Not because I think it's bad, but because it's awkward. I don't want to stroke my own back, or toot my own horn. I know what I am. Flawed...human...a perfectionist.

I am good at details. At painting with words...sometimes too much. Sometimes not enough. I, like Hemingway, read a book that is popular and set out to do it better. I never thought I'd be competitive. I'm not popular enough to even try. But I can finish a book and say...hmm that's pretty good. Better in my opinion. Shit probably in someone else's.

I publish and hope that somehow a reader stumbles across my book. But I don't harp in chat rooms, or post everywhere. I feel a little dirty when I self-promote. Whiny. It's not good. So where do I go from here? Do I take that giant leap towards tradition. Find a publisher. Hand over my control for a little less time-consuming processes that aren't writing. Trade in my creative freedom for some monetary relief.

I don't know what to do...and that's the rub...the problem. I don't know what's more important anymore. I hate self-publishing, but I don't. I hate doing it all myself, but like the control. I hate being so fucking indecisive...and yet my choice has not become any easier while whining in written form. Sometimes I wish life had a magic 8-ball. Shake, ask your question...reply.

A solid answer...yes or no.