Little Green Monsters

I've talked about professional jealousy here before. It's an ugly insidious thing that eats the souls of good writers. I expect it out of newbies. It's damn hard not to get depressed when things seem to flow effortlessly for other writers. Hell, I've suffered from the condition myself, but I'm not proud of that fact.

In general, if it crops up in my head, I squash it with an imaginary shoe.

However, envy of those ahead of you makes more sense than the envy I'm seeing in my peers, i.e. those of us who were fourth-generation indies.

(In my head, I consider first generation to be the folks who self-published, I mean REALLY self-published, not vanity published, prior to any e-readers. Second generation are those transmitting PDFs or selling CDs. Third generation are those writers who jumped into the Kindle world first.)

Anyway, the folks with some initial success, who are still writing (not sailing naked--which is perfectly fine because I enjoy the pictures), now worry about staying on top of the heap. Staying on top isn't easy by any stretch of the definition. Algorithms change. Retailers crash. Old ways of advertising don't work anymore. The public's tastes shift to the latest shiny.

In other words, it's the same old-same old in publishing.

But because they were the first to hit it big in e-books and not sell out to the Big 5 publishing houses, they became accustomed to a certain income level. I'm not talking about the gold rush people, the ones that threw out a bunch of books in 2010 and 2011, then disappeared under the next wave of indie writers. I'm talking about the ones who've stuck with this crazy venture for the last five to ten years. The ones who've worked their asses off. The ones Data Guy revealed with his last Author Earnings report, and the folks just below them.

And the scary part is how many of them have said spiteful things about each other. On their blogs. On other people's blogs. On Facebook. On Twitter.

Part of me is a little jealous of their success. I could have been one of them if I hadn't floundered through personal shit from the summer of 2013 through the summer of 2017. I could have been a selfish bitch and said no when people needed me. In retrospect, maybe I should have. Only DH appreciated the effort I put out to help other family members.

On the other hand, maybe it's a good thing I essentially started over this year. I didn't become accustomed to a certain level of income. I didn't assume the gravy train and the glory would continue forever. And I didn't freak out during the 2016 downturn in the industry.

Because any significant income on my part had already faded by 2016. LOL

In other words, I can sit here and whine about the shitty hand I was dealt, and how life's so unfair.

Or I can write a story. And publish it. And be super fucking grateful that people are willing to plunk down their hard-earned money to buy my books.

Now, I can't say I will never feel a twinge when a friend says he or she landed a TV option deal. But I will be happy for them.

Because that's their path. Not mine.

Mine's still through that frickin' raspberry brambles, but I'm trying to remember to taste the fruit.