I’ve spent the last month or so probing around, and I’m starting to suspect that I’m going to have to let go of my little malfunction.
So that’s it, I guess. It’s probably time for me to get with the program.
Though honestly, with the way everything is going, charging $3 for a book might as well be giving it away for free.
And we did spend 2020 together.
Anyway, I’m not going to make any moves this week. Still processing ‘n stuff.
And the nice thing about books is that they don’t have expiration dates. I could spend the next five years sulking if I wanted.
The thing is, I will write in a vacuum. I will write for one other person. But there’s still a part of me that wants to know what my full potential is, and that’s not going to happen without making some changes. This isn’t 2010 anymore.
Vague griping, lawl.
I guess I can’t help but feel a little bitter about pulling myself together too late to achieve what I wanted. Ten years ago, sure. But not today.
By Autumn Rain 
Better today than another ten years from now. Though, with much older people doing things like switching fields, going back to school, starting their first novel, it gives me hope it’s never too late to change things.
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