Admittedly, I’m in a cranky mood, still burned out and feeling restless without knowing what to do about it. Normally, I can just pass by statements that are blatantly silly and forget about them. Not on days like this.
“Let’s be honest about expectations. Every debut author dreams their book will be the one the publishing fairy touches with her magic wand.”
This is the usual stuff about best-sellerdom and how we all dream about it. So let me be honest about my expectations. I don’t dream about being a best-selling author. I don’t aspire to be a best-selling author. My stories are unlikely ever to appeal to more than a small number of readers. And I’m fine with that. I’m the writer I always wanted to be, without reference to anyone else’s judgment about whether I should be doing it differently. Just as I have with every other aspect of my life, I’m finding my own way as a writer. I expect to learn, to mature, to evolve. I don’t expect to be a best-selling author. That’s somebody else’s dream, and they can have it.