My Dream Job

A dream job. A dream career. Oh, how I have spent most of my 29.5 years looking for you. Wherefore art thou dream career? I've searched high and low. I've begged and pleaded with the multiverse (Hawking has recently come to the conclusion this isn't realistic, hasn't he? Such a shame). The formula is so simple. Find your passion + research how to monetize it = you'll never work a day in your life. There's nothing innately wrong with the formula, per se, if your passion allows it. My friend's passion is to travel, so he became a flight attendant. He travels all over and gets paid to do it. It's wonderful for him. For him. For him. Not for everyone. Not for most people. Why? Because a passion doesn't always allow for likely monetization. I'm not saying it's impossible – it's possible to make money doing just about anything. But is it likely? Are the odds in your favor? Now factor in a family. Whatever small odds you already had plummet significantly.

Life isn't a motivational poster, regardless of what 99% of your Facebook and Instagram friends would lead you to believe. Life is hard. Staying alive and afloat is hard. We're not entitled to fuck all. Not in the least. And there's nothing wrong with admitting that, though it might be scary as hell the first time you do. Just like the first time I admitted to myself that being a Catholic was no longer for me. I'd done 8 years in Catholic school. I was baptized. Confirmed. Yet ... no. I couldn't help but feel guilty. Guilty for what? Guilty for betraying God, of course! But, wait, I didn't believe that anymore. So who were my feelings of guilt aimed at? Ah. Myself. I was guilty with myself. But then this weird thing happened. A moment of clarity. I don't remember when. I don't remember where. But it materialized like a melting skull on a bad acid trip. And it felt good. It felt new and scary. But good.

Here's the thing: most of us will never make a decent living through our passions. Mr. Fuckin' Buzzkill, huh? Yeah, well, if I have to realize the truth, so do all of you! This doesn't mean you can't keep trying. It doesn't mean you can't go your entire life failing miserably and still love every second of it. Because odds are, if you understand you're just doing it for the love of the game, good for you. You're one step ahead of most of us. One step ahead of us sad saps who took a little too long to figure that out and are left without much of a choice in the grand scheme.

But when you do realize it? It's magical. It's relieving. And, hey, if one day you find yourself quitting your day job to write novels, play songs, or make dog bow ties and you're still able to fill your stomach, then more power to you. You've done it. You've bucked the system. You're one of the few. Run with it for however long you can and don't look back. You're extremely talented, extremely savvy, and extremely lucky (and don't feel guilty about any of that).

I don't say any of this to discourage anyone. In fact, that's quite the opposite of my intentions. Once you realize you're fighting a losing battle, you can take control of your passion. You can remember why you love what you do and do it for that reason. You can find a way to make a living without resenting whatever it is you're doing. Because, hey, if you enjoy your day job more than you don't, then you've really won. You are probably content with your life more than you're not. That's beautiful. And rare. And not rare for any more reason than most people do things out of necessity not choice. Especially an occupation.

Nothing is easy. Nothing is great all of the time. Nothing. Not your love life. Not your children. Not the meal you order at your favorite restaurant. Nothing.

My passion is to tell stories. I get discouraged when my Amazon ranking isn't as high as I'd like it to be. Or when I find a typo a year after my book has been released. But I know I'm good. I know I can tell a good story and entertain someone. And when that happens, and when someone tells me they've been blown away, it means the world. And that person could be my wife. Or a friend. That's all I need. I can go back to whatever day job I have and know that later that night (or, realistically, very very early the next morning) I can return to what I love and give it my best shot without bringing my world crashing down around me. Around the ones I care about. No, I can't do that. Not because I think I deserve something without actually having it. And I do think I deserve it. But that doesn't mean I'll get it. And it doesn't mean I should get it. It doesn't mean anything.

This is a letter to myself as much as it is to you. But I hope it can help you as much as it'll help me when I feel like burning my hard drive. Take the $3 in royalties you made on that dog bow tie and go buy a cup of coffee. And drink it slowly. Savor it. You've earned it.

Self-Publishing: Print

A few months ago, I'd written a blog post on the Glimpse website about the process of self-publishing. There are two categories when it comes to self-publishing – print and digital. I'm going to reblog my original post about the process of getting your manuscript ready for print. Next week or some time after, I'll do one for digital.

When I started writing Glimpse, I didn’t know whether or not I would print physical copies. In today’s world, anything and everything is done online. As much as I love holding a book in my hands, I really didn’t think it would be worth it for me to print a trade copy. After some self-debate and polling of friends and family, I decided to go ahead with it. I’ve self-published before and I know how much of a task I would be taking on. It’s been nearly five years since the last time I’ve gone through the process and things have changed quite a bit. I figured I’d give you all some insight into the operation.

The first thing to worry about is editing. Odds are, if you’re self-publishing, you're hard-pressed in the money department. Hiring an editor is not cheap. A keen eye and an understand of everything English is completely necessary. And you still won’t catch everything. Professional editors who work for Ingram Publishing don’t catch everything. I learned that the hard way the first time. The magic of an independent book, however, is that if it’s made with enough love and passion, it doesn’t need to be perfect. In the world of writing, there will always and forever be mistakes and typos. Nonetheless, it’s still frustrating to catch something after your book as gone into print. Hence, second and third (and fourth and twelfth) editions. If you can swing the dough (and I highly suggest saving up), get yourself on Elance (or whatever equivalent) and get an editor. You can find some excellent talent at fairly reason prices (for editing). A good edit with bring your book to levels you never knew it could (or needed to) go. If you need some direction, feel free to email me or leave a comment with your email address, and I'll be sure to point you the right way.

Next, it’s all about formatting. Certain self-publishing houses will guide you in the process, but these are companies that sell packaged deals and mark up the purchase of copies quite significantly. This is the route I went the last time, at first. After smartening up and realizing that I could pay less cost per book, I made the switch to a company that does nothing but print. No support. No formatting. That meant I had to do everything myself (and again with Glimpse). It’s not easy, but it’s worth it in the end.

In my case, I had to worry about illustrations. It’s one thing to have to format every line of text, every page number, every chapter, copyright page, Table Of Contents page, and anything else that goes into the writing portion. But to add in formatting illustrations for print? A whole different monster. Now I had to worry about color matching, clarity and print quality, and accuracy on each page. Once you submit your manuscript, the printing press makes no further alterations. Wherever your files are and however they are positioned is how they will print. Math plays a large part in the procedure, and a mathematician I am not.

The next step is the cover. Before anything is started, an ISBN (International Standard Book Number) number is necessary. Individually, they are $125. For a block of 10, $250. Quite a steep discount at that price. For any version of the book you publish (hardcover, paperback, e-book, etc.) a unique number needs to be assigned, however, so you end up using them quite quickly. Just five years ago, they were $50. Some inflation, huh?

Getting your cover set up is more than just the front of the book. There are a plethora of different sizes you can choose from when publishing a book. It’s really up to you and what style you are looking for. I chose 8.5 x 5.5 for Glimpse. This is because the book is a hybrid between a novel and a graphic novel. I wanted to keep it convenient for others to carry with them and also to store in your library at home.

The spine of the book is just as important. It’s the first thing people are going to see when Glimpse is sitting on a bookshelf (hopefully) somewhere. It needs to be centered and perfect, and that is so much easier said than done.

The next step is to submit the manuscript for approval. As long as the file types are right, they’ll be accepted and then the printing process beings. There is a set up fee for every new title of give or take $100. After everything is accepted processed, it is time to order a proof. A proof runs about $30 (and costs $30 for every subsequent one ordered if corrections needs to be made). After you are satisfied, you can lock in your title and start ordering real prints. If your manuscript needs to be edited, it will cost another $40 to edit and re-submit.

It is a painstakingly tedious process that demands patience (and money). However, once you you have that final product in your hand, it’s all worth it.

-Justin

Earning money from my work

I received my first Amazon royalty check today (for the month of February). I knew it was coming and didn't think much of it. Didn't really believe it would have too much of an impact on my psyche as a writer or an artist. But, surprisingly, it has.

I was notified via email this morning and it was a nice kickstart to the day. To officially be a paid writer is quite an accomplished feeling. Granted, watching the royalty checks grow in monetary size is the next step. Getting the same amount every month without any sort of exponential growth will have quite the opposite impact on my productivity over time, I'm sure.

When I tell people that I'm striving to make a living as an author/artist, I get all kinds of cocked-eyebrows and snooty eye rolls. If I bring up the fact that I have a three-year-old daughter? Forget it. I might as well be hanged or lynched. The "struggling artist" stigma follows us around wherever we go.

"Get a real job!"

"Provide for your family!"

"Stop dreaming and provide a nest egg, you silly bastard!"

The thing is, these people are right! Well, partially right. Providing for my family is priority number one. If providing for your family isn't the first thing on your mind, then you have some things you need to work out.

But the magical (not to sound too Doug Henning) part about the art world now is that it's become business – that is, if you're aspiring to run the entire show yourself. You're no longer the writer/artist, but you're the writer/artist/small business owner/marketer/street team/web designer/social marketing and SEO expert/salesman/the list goes on and on. I do more work now than I have at any job I've ever worked, which is a significant number, and some with an equally significant workload. The problem, as with any other small business start-up, is that I don't make any money doing it. Yet. Hopefully, yet. To say yet is to assume that I will. There is no guarantee. So I rescind the word yet.

At the end of the day, all I can do is put out great content and lots of it. If the fruits of my labor (I hate that saying) are out there, odds are that they will come in one way, shape, or form. That form could potentially be failure. And I'm okay with that. Rotten fruit exists. Some in our fruit bowl right now.

I think as a business owner, you have to be okay with failure looming. If you're going into something thinking that you can't (and by can't, I mean both cannot because you're too good to fail or cannot because you can't afford to fail) then you are not prepared to fall and will surely smack your chin on the concrete, knocking out a few teeth and making it even harder to get a regular gig on the business failure rebound. I digress.

Hopefully, March's royalty check will be a tad more. And more after that. And so on and so forth. I would sign on for a modest income for the rest of my days if it meant being successful in what I love. But my family will tell me that I sound like a broken record, because I've been saying that since the beginning of time.

Incremental and consistent is all I can hope for, which is quite fitting considering that is the same thing you, the reader and customer, expect from me. I will hold up my end of the deal. I just hope that you continue bestowing upon me your sweet fruit. Wait, what?

-Justin