This post isn't really about books or writing.
February is my worst month. It's the last month of winter (well, March technically is, but as this is Ohio, you never know what you're going to get in March) and usually the snowiest. We had a bad storm yesterday. At ten o' clock at night it was bright enough outside to read a book, thanks to all of the white snow reflecting city lights. (Light pollution: sometimes helpful, sometimes obnoxious, and sometimes just weird.)
This time of the year last year I was probably staring blankly at the TV at best, or at worst breaking down into tears of misery over the hell that was my life. I was working full-time at a low-paying job I hated. This time last year "Addicted to the Bite" was just out, and I had only a handful of short stories up on Amazon, and they weren't exactly selling.
What a difference a year makes. I've had a 100% sales increase on my books. I have a semi-successful series. One person paid outrageous shipping costs just to have my autograph in my book. I was a guest star on a freaking podcast. (I don't have a voice for radio, btw.) Between this past November to January I've clocked in a lot of words. (Most of them not for the Leigh Wilder brand though. Leigh Wilder is having a really hard time getting her next book finished.)
After 12 years of near-crippling depression I realized I was too introverted to keep working full-time with the public. I now work between 10 and 20 hours a week. I still dislike my job and I'm still under-paid, but the anxiety and misery that enveloped and exhausted me is mostly gone. I still consider myself suffering from depression. Happy isn't much of a thing for me. But neutral, neutral is something that gives me more relief than I can possibly say.
I have no money. My monthly income is between $500 and $600. That's with my day job and my writing. I don't mind too much, but there are a few things I'd like to change. Ideally, I'd like to live someplace cheaper so I can put more money back for things that I want or need. (Mostly need.)
Right now I'm suffering from February. Writing is hard. It's hard to stay focused. It's hard to be excited about what I'm producing. Everything around me seems boring, dull, pointless. I want to go somewhere and do something. I'm not talking about simply leaving the house (that's the last thing I want to do). I want to LEAVE. I want to take my computer and some clothes in a backpack and go somewhere for a few months. If I was young and unattached I could do that. But I am old. I have responsibilities. Not my job. Screw my job. I have two cats, a fiance, and two sick grandmothers already living 100 miles away. Buggering off to San Francisco until Ohio decides to be warm again isn't much of an option, but I really, really wish it was.
I'm doing my best to get through. At least I'm not curled up in a ball crying, but god do I hate February.