New Year, New Hope

 

Bitter morning greetings from the farm. "Bitter" by Georgia standards, anyway. Everyone up north is laughing at us down here. But anytime you have steep temperature drops, it can be problematic for animals. Thankfully so far we don't have snow - it's predicted for Friday, ugh - and the girls are drinking plenty of water (a big deal when it gets cold) and keeping warm with blankets and lots of hay. I like to stage little piles of hay around the paddock as opposed to using round bales, that way they go from pile to pile and continue moving in a more natural, grazing-like pattern. Gotta keep the circulation going. 

It's surreal that it's 2025 already. I always take a little time away from social media/writing around the holidays, especially during that weird, liminal space between Christmas and New Year's. But this year, I've been very off-and-on ever since September when LHM dropped. Not only was that book mentally and emotionally draining to complete, but then it's proved to be my worst selling book of all time. That coupled with some tumultuous real-life changes hit me with my worst writing slump ever. I've had a few stops and starts with existing series, dabbling with the Drakes or SoR a few hundred words at a time, but I've had lots of days when I sincerely thought that's it. I can't write another book. My mom always said, "Yes, you will." Like it's a given. It didn't feel like it there for a while. 

Yesterday was the first time since August I've written more than 2k words in a single day. I started something new, brand new, not related to anything else I've written, and slowly but surely over the course of the day, I felt some of the old spark returning. I won't get my hopes up, and I'm not ready to post anything like a teaser for it yet, but things were clicking yesterday. I woke up this morning eager to pick up where I left off. I started College Town at this time last year, and it was a much-needed break and creativity booster. Maybe this new standalone can be one of those as well. 

In this period of stagnation, there's two things keep coming back to. Recurring thoughts. 

The first is an exchange between an author and an anonymous commenter I encountered on Tumblr 6 or 7 years ago. The author, who was very talented, was bemoaning the amount of online hate and bullying her work was receiving. She decided to allow anonymous comments and posed the question: "Why are you over here trying to crush me, who has a small audience, and who just wants to share my work, instead of railing against the drivel being pushed out by huge publishing houses?" I'm paraphrasing, but it boiled down to: why are you picking on me instead of these huge corporate productions? Why single out a bespoke piece of fiction posted for free on the web? One anonymous commenter - only brave enough to say this thanks to anonymity - replied: "Because we know we can influence you." The commenter went on to say that they knew they couldn't affect a massive, NYT bestselling author with multi-million-dollar contracts, that they couldn't alter the course of a movie they disliked. "But we can stop you," this person said. The online, creative equivalent of kicking a puppy because you couldn't take on the hulking schoolyard tough guy. If you can't fight Dwayne Johnson, why not punch a baby? 

The other thing I've been thinking about is the way publishing part one of Fearless in August of 2014 made some folks so, so angry. When the ceaseless bullying I was dealing with while writing fanfiction in college got to be too much trouble, I jumped ship to writing original fiction. I only sold a few books here and there, but at least it was peaceful. Then the same bullies from the fanfic world jumped to Amazon, and when I started releasing Fearless in installments, the same old crap started all over again. 

Because I'm self-published instead of Stephen King, there's been no shortage over the last decade of people seeking to influence me. Some of them want me to pay them to read and talk up my books; some of them want to tell me what I can and can't write; some of them want me to go away and never publish another book. It's been, in a word, exhausting. I feel extremely fortunate to have amassed my small following and to have brought them joy through my work. It's incredible that anyone has read something I wrote, and sent me a kind message, or left a thoughtful review. Truly astounding. I shouldn't complain at all. 

But it does deeply sadden me that Dartmoor ignited such anger and hatred and bad acts from people. Some authors, some readers paid by those authors, some influencers wanting to steer the market. I'm very pleased with what I accomplished with Dartmoor, and I can only hope, going forward, that maybe if it's laid to rest, some of the nonsense will stop. Was it about that series? Those original bullies? Or is it just a me thing at this point? I know it's always been a point of contention that I don't pay readers and influencers. I can't afford to, because where does it stop? You'll dig yourself into the hole that way. I know the book world is a minefield of toxicity, but maybe, for me, it can be a little less toxic going forward...?

That's my hope: that I can write some new, and fun, and interesting stories in 2025, and shed some of the hatred that was heaped on my head thanks to Dartmoor. It began the very day I published part one. Perhaps, finally, I can slough it off. 

That got maudlin, didn't it? No more. I'm off to re-bust some water troughs, and then have some coffee and get back to work. Cheers to a brighter new year, friends. Thanks for being here. Thanks for your kindness. It means more than you know.