Life’s been shit. Anyone within the bubble of my reality has known this for a few years now. For me, the depth of the excrement around me wasn’t truly clear until Christmas vacation. And my extended vacation. And then the extra week I took off because there was no point attempting anything creative when the family wouldn’t allow me to focus. Not to mention the world losing Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds—women who’ve been life-long compass points when it comes to realigning my fucked up world. The news put me in bed, marathoning Trollhunters on Netflix to escape all the sadness.
I’ve marathoned a lot of television this last three weeks.
Then I looked at my paycheck.
I had two options this week: Mentally trudge through my workload, bitter and burnt out from the anger simmering in my frustrated, broken mind. Or I could fix my shit, at least pretend I want to have a life again, and find my happy in a way which would allow me to do paying work again.
It started with a schedule. We all know how much I love schedules. When my head is at its worst, looking at a set time frame to Get Shit Done is the only way to make it click that the hours my brain had set aside for regret, or some other unhealthy thing to dwell on, is actually allotted for productive activities. A lot of them. So much so, if I were to just work through this motivation without setting a schedule, I’d burn out on the workload in a month and fall back into depression. Baby steps. Tackling the list in bite-sizes works so much better. Spreading the tasks out over the work week help, too. Monday: focus on Task A, with minor time on Task C. Tuesday: prep for Task B, focus on Task E, and schedule a post for Task D. You get the point. It’s not an eight-hour binge to get Task A done so I can move onto the next, but Task A hits a mental wall and I’m left forcing myself to get it done in a way which while productive doesn’t ensure my best effort.
If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s to get your shit done right the first time because the repercussions down the road will only be exponentially harder to overcome.
That leads me to the Patreon page.
Yeah, I had the same reaction when I realized that, yes, I was indeed following through with the whim to make an account. At this point, I have literally nothing to lose and everything to gain.
What do you gain? Finally, a set home for the podcast, Professional Bitching, along with the backlog of previous podcasts—both of which will remain free to the public. With a secure home, the podcast can finally reach a better production level because I’m not scrambling to constantly reinvent its production process to fit whatever web host happens to work that week. Patrons will eventually have access to special podcast episodes featuring my stories, as well. The Patreon page allows me to control information better, which means more chances to see sneak peaks into upcoming novels for patrons and possibly even the chance to help me do things like name characters/locations for works-in-progress.
The monetary perks are small, for now. Mostly to encourage focus on, A) Reviving the podcast, and B) Completing the final vampire novel—I’m within 30k words and the end is so close, I can taste the bloodbath. Later, I may host a larger campaign to do things like, oh, finally commission the cover art I envision for the Inbetween novels or purchase a laptop so I may work more efficiently from bed when my disability flares. That’s the dream. For now the focus is the podcast and vampires, the side effect of the latter being ample blog posts for patrons with frank discussions about how I write. I’ve already posted one discussing lesbian vampire sex.
I honestly hate talking money, but it makes everything happen, so here we are. Trading money for greater access into my writing process feels really odd. However, I’m dedicated to the cause. Let’s go make weird shit together, guys.