Been two weeks that I quit my full time job, been two weeks that I turned a full time writer, been two weeks that I received 400 odd likes for that “Left my job” post on Facebook. But, it’s been a while that I took this decision and I wanted to give this a shot. A leap that was unexpected and a step that is supposed to feed my soul.
I am a complete weirdo – I don’t know what I want. It takes me a slip to understand it, be it the unwanted B.E degree or the choice of choosing the only choice I had – IT field that fed my wants, a relationship where I didn’t have an expectation, but ended up being treated wrong which apparently led to a list of expectations that I should have probably had up front. So I am a mess! I don’t know when I thought or started believing that “Writing is my calling” – nevertheless, that’s my solace. The white blank MS word with which I am “me”
I would now miss the smile when my bank account gets credited, I can no longer scroll the online shopping apps and order clothes of my choice, I can no longer go out with friends and spend for myself, I can no longer buy my own books but look for eBooks and Torrents to download, I can no longer get back to the lavishing me again. I can no longer walk with heads held high, calling myself a career oriented woman. I have lost it all, in one decision of mine.
Ever since, slowly the pain has started catching more fire. From the one who decided to quit my job for writing – I turned the one who is not writing at all except for a few micro tales and yes, I chose to freelance. Freelancing for money – spend hours writing on stuffs that are totally unrelated and out of the blue – bingo games, sex toys, drug trends in Philadelphia. I do write, but goddamn, it makes no sense to me.
What will I do? I have to pay for my editor who will clean my pathetic grammatical errors and let my manuscript shine, I would never let my book reviews to have “Pathetic editing” as a frown factor. How will I pay them? I have to pay my cover designer who spent hours illustrating what’s in my mind and how I will I ever pay? And oh, the marketing guys who tweet and Facebook about my book – how on Earth will I pay the big fat money? Oh! But for all this, my book should get published.
How will I turn off my friends who would ask for free books. “I need an autographed copy,” how sweet of a way is it to ask for a free book? Well, am a budding author, I can’t shamelessly ask them for money, they are going to spend time with my books out of the million books available on Amazon.
How will I pay the courier? How will I pay for the PR guys? – Everything about publishing my book is about money except for returns. I laughed out loud when a website that self-publishes book read “Usually the author gets 20 INR for each copy that gets sold, but since we distribute it across, it is better if the author bids lesser for their royalty” Isn’t it funny? I would spend my whole freaking time, writing – deleting – writing again – deleting again – writing. And then shape it better – shape it much better – shape it to the best of my capabilities. And send it to my editor – fight with the editor like crazy and get the best freaking manuscript, but then make 20 INR for every copy sold. Am not Chetan Bhagat to sell a million copies, I am not sure if any traditional publisher would ever accept to publish my book, am not sure how many know me as an author, maybe! Tomorrow even if I cross my own book at a bookstore and wait for hours, I would still not met anyone who picks my book. Oh my God! Am I a failure? Did I turn down a job that paid half a lakh per month for this?
In want of money – will I ever write only about online frigging games for life? In want of readership – will I stick to publishing books churning my own money? In want of friendship – will I stick penning leave letters and love letters to all my friends. Will I only be a freaking showoff material of my friends who say that they know an author?
Am afraid – what if my posts offend someone? Am afraid – what if someone points a grammatical error in this post, it would affect my reputation. Am a freaking writer – I can’t make mistakes, can I? What if I offend every other person?
Am torturing myself with these questions. This isolates me! I spoke out, I told my friends – “Get married,” they say! Marry a rich fat guy who will feed not just me, but even my publishing dreams? Oh yes! What if he loves me enough to start a publishing company himself? Oh wait, how about dating a publisher itself? Or an editor? Or a cover designer? – Oh, these freaking thoughts! How can I just get married to stay fed. Dad feeds me, yes! What if he falls sick? What if I had to take a stand? What did ‘writing’ do to me? Pain, pathetic pain!
Why did I write this post though? Did I take the wrong decision? Why is ‘writing’ not paying my house rent? Why are authors in movies and books turn bestsellers’ and millionaires? Wont I ever make it big? Will my next generation know me as an author! Oh my family tree, if you ever feel that you have a flair for writing – kill that thought instantly. Don’t be a frigging failure!
Phew! Writing this made me feel better – off to writing about some online bingo games, yo!