The Dilemma of Awkward Questions

Relatives love to ask how the writing is going (a tough answer for us to sum up). They may even ask what your book is about (though their eyes glaze over when we tell them). And then they say, “So, how are sales?”

Alarms blare in our mind. Get out. Get out as fast as you can!

If you’re traditionally published, in bookstores, and on any of the bestsellers lists, then this blog post does not apply to you. Obviously.

For the rest of us, we’re not too comfortable talking about ourselves as writers let alone discussing book sales. I mean, we could just respond with a “not bad,” in all honesty. If you can claim having made any number of sales, then you are doing “not bad,” in my opinion. 

Or maybe you decide to say, “Well, my KENP has been great this week because of a Written Word promo I did earlier in the month … ” but whoever you’re speaking to won’t have a clue what that means.

(KENP is the number of Kindle Unlimited library page reads your KDP-Select books compile on a daily basis.)

Either way, your relatives are going to look at you a little leerily during this conversation. A bit curiously. Because unless they are artists of some sort, they aren’t going to get it.

The question that lingers below the surface is about money. The fact that we do something that does not sustain a lifestyle. Or . . .  actually it sustains one but not the one they assume everyone desires. It sustains the starving-artist lifestyle. Living not in excess but in frugality. The kind of lifestyle that begs a person to put their money into the thing that they love rather than taking a substantial amount out of it (although the chance for all of that radically changing is always out there).  

We writers and authors are a people who are willing to wait and see. Wait for the payoff to come at a later date. Or never at all. When all is said and done, we may end up breaking even, or, gasp, in the negative numbers. The windy moors of less than. 

“Why are you doing this if it’s not making you money?” may be what they want to say but are holding back because that would be rude, even more rude than their eyes glazing over while you sum up your book in a three-sentence elevator pitch.

And let’s not forget the other question that lurks in their curious minds: Are you even good at it?

That’s an almost impossible question to answer fairly. Or maybe it’s not. Because we could always say, “Why, yes, I am good at it. Even if you don’t think so. Thanks for asking.”

Anyway, those are two of the bigger elephants in the room. I’m sure there are others.

These are not bad questions to ask, though no one but you should probably ask them of you—as awkward as that sentence sounds. Why you do what you do is a question that you need to answer. If you’ve been writing for some time, then most likely you’ve already answered it. You know that writing does something for you. It gives you something. Whether that’s an artistic high or a feeling of achievement, something drives you to the pen or computer day after day (even if those are not consecutive days).

You are compelled to write. You love interacting with the characters that populate your books. Or the challenge of piecing together a multifaceted tale satisfies you. Or maybe you just like the alone time. Time with your thoughts, and the way writing helps you figure out how you feel, what you value, where the problem really is, or what the meaning of life is (or something like that).

You’re the writer in the family, and maybe there aren’t any others, so your relatives don’t understand. You come from a long line of accountants or short-order cooks or doctors. They do a job that can be monitored and recorded. They go to work. They receive a paycheck every two weeks.

(You might receive a paycheck too, but it likely comes from what you call your “day job.” I say thank goodness for day jobs. Otherwise, how would we ever do the work we actually love to do?)

But our relatives can’t imagine why a person would opt to have two jobs instead of just the one that makes “good” money.

I can’t imagine why they would want to spend all day in an office building with a majority of people they don’t like who are all competing for the same “bigger salaries.” But that’s just me. I never cared for office life.

To each his own, as my mother often says.

She understands me because, having been an abstract artist her entire life, she is also the reason I felt free to pursue my art. I’m pretty sure she provided the genes for creativity that drive me as well.

So, the next time a relative asks you about your writing and how book sales are going, just tell them the truth. “My writing life is invaluable on so many levels, and the potential for book sales is through the roof." Then say, "How’s your job going?”