“Are you ever going to be happy with the way things are?”
I’ve been asked that by a number of people. My wife, friends, co-workers, fellow creators, and family. Hell, I’ve even asked myself that question.
I mean, I worked my ass off to achieve my dream of being a full-time writer. I made a lot of mistakes along the way and my journey took longer than I would have liked. But I made it. I reached this goal I’ve been working toward for at least half my life. I spend my days telling stories, some featuring my own characters (such as The Damned, The Tooth, and The Sixth Gun) and some featuring characters I’ve loved since I was a kid (such as Wolverine, Spider-Man: Season One, and Captain America & Hawkeye). I should be content, right?
But being content just doesn’t seem to be in the genetic soup running through my veins.
“Are you ever going to be happy with the way things are?”
God, I hope not.
I’m happy with how far I’ve come, especially in the last couple of years. I’m thrilled that readers are enjoying my work. Telling stories is a helluva way to make a living, and I wouldn’t give up on it without a fight. But being happy and being content are very different things. The idea of being content–of complacency with my professional lot in life–makes me cringe. Whenever I’m asked why I just can’t be content with the work I’m doing, this equation runs through my head:
Complacency = Stagnation = Death!
I’ve said many times that I never gained any traction with my writing until I started treating it like a full-time job. I wrote in the morning before I left for my day job. I wrote during my lunch break. I wrote for a few hours every night after my son went to bed. I stopped being content with treating my writing like a hobby, and suddenly it became an honest-to-goodness career. I was tired, but making the earth tremble is tough work.
But…
Even though I’ve been working… even though I’ve written dozens of books over the past year… I find myself sliding slowly back into a comfort zone. I know what I have to produce to pay the bills. I know how much time I have to spend on my various projects. It’s a seductive trap. And that feeling scares the Hell out of me.
Unless I’m expanding… unless I’m doing more… unless I’m still daydreaming and taking action to make those daydreams come to life… I’m stagnant.
It’s time, once again, to adjust my attitude when it comes to work. It’s time to work harder, work smarter, and diversify a bit. Comics (creator-owned and otherwise), prose, screenplays, video games. I want to tell stories. I don’t care what medium.
I like to stay busy. I’m only ever really close to “content” when I’m working.
I’m focusing, planning, rallying allies, educating myself, taking meetings, and sending out proposals again. There are big things on the horizon. I’m building something. I’m working like a madman and loving every second of it.
I feel alive.
This is the preamble to Scorched Earth.
