What Happens After You Win the War?

It feels like I posted more recently than eight months ago, but apparently not. This blog was always about three imperfectly rated things– sexism in art, my personal experiences selling my charms, and my writing career. Now that my writing career is actually working and happening– I’ve been making a better than average wage at writing since last September–I haven’t got much to say about the last part.

I haven’t got a reason to angst over the will I/won’t I/why do I do this anyway. I have a successful book series. I have fans. I make good money. But it’s just like everyone says it will be. At the end of the day, I’m the same person with the same problems. I’m a more fulfilled person with a fatter bank account and more career satisfaction. I’m a person who has an actual, actionable plan for the next six to twelve months.

But I’m the same girl who simultaneously wants to be worthy of being objectified and rejects the idea wholesale. I’m the same girl who watches Death Note once a year and wonders, yet again, what the hell were the writers thinking? I have the same issues with setting boundaries and making friends. My non-writing life is less organized!

I’m having a moment. I guess that’s why I’m here. I’ve been doing well for a year now. I’ve been doing out of this world well for about six months. My life is completely different but it’s also the same. In so many ways, I’m the same person I was ten years ago. I still have the same favorite album and I still listen to it three times a week, and I still think all the same things about all the same songs. I still make silly sex jokes at every opportunity. I’m more mature, more able to adult, more able to put things in perspective, but I have a lot of the same problems I had when I was 17.

Will I feel the same way in another ten years?

There’s always something to stress over. There’s always another writing issue to solve.

There’s always something.

But my life really isn’t the same.

And I’m still not sure how to deal with that.


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