Edith here, where it’s hot and windy like the desert.
But I’m not worrying about it. That’s my summer mantra this year.
So much to worry about in all aspects of life, and so little time. I could get very caught up in, for example, worrying if I do enough promotion for my books. I’ll see that a friend, even a Wicked Cozy friend, has a guest post on a widely read blog that I guested on last year. I can worry about why I wasn’t asked this year, or that I forgot to invite myself. I can worry if I’ve contacted enough bookstores and libraries about my books, reached out to the wrong reading audience, forgotten to send a press release. And then worry that all will affect my sales.
On the other hand, I could worry that I’m flogging my books TOO much, that potential readers are sick of me mentioning (gently, I hope) that a book is on sale this month, that I got a really nice review, or that my new newsletter is out. If they find all that irritating, will they drop me from their To Be Read pile?
Ya know what? I’m not worrying about that. I’m here to write the best book I can, and then to write another one. I’ve done the best I can, and the Events tab on my web site looks pretty full for some months in a row. Well, then I could worry that I’m NOT writing the best book I can. Or that the best book won’t be good enough. I still haven’t heard if Kensington will renew the Local Foods contract. I’ve written an entire historical mystery that isn’t even under contract, and I could worry that it never will be, that no one will want to read it. I could definitely worry that my decision to quit my day job to write fiction full time was foolhardy.
But I’m not going to worry about any of that. One could say there are more important things to worry about: will my retirement savings last, for example? Will my cats get sick or run over? Will something disastrous happen to my health, to Hugh’s, to my sons’? What about world events? Climate change??
If I start worrying about all that, though, I’ll NEVER write any books. I’d never even leave the house, and might cower in a corner whimpering.
No, it’s summertime. I’m going to keep writing every morning, hit the beach near sunset, enjoy a G&T and a good mystery. I’ll continue to recycle, live frugally, drive my Prius conservatively, and work for peace where possible. I have to assume that life will bring me what it will bring me, whether I worry or not.
Of course, as Hugh likes to say: to ASSUME just makes an Ass out of yoU and Me. One more thing not to worry about!
Readers: what do you worry about? What’s your best strategy for not worrying?