(This was originally a Facebook post, but it got rambly)
Not gonna lie; my mental health is in the toilet. I’m out of the habit of writing. I struggle to blog. I have no clue how to build my mailing list. I *still* owe hard-copies of the Lady Raven books to backers from years ago, which I feel like I’d be doing them a disservice by not making sure my many remaining mistakes and formatting issues are fixed first. I’m struggling to find a new job. I’ve been putting on weight. I can’t sleep past 5am, no matter what time I go to bed.
I’m sorry to everyone I’ve been short with over the past 12 months (maybe more), because a lot of my core mental health issues stem from the existential dread of passing into my forties and seemingly having pissed away a writing career which I’m scrambling to rebuild. Because that was the one endevour which was entirely for me.
I’ve treated a lot of people unfairly. Been judgemental and selfish, and not at all the person I want to be. I’ve even lost friends over my behaviour, and I’ve all but vanished from the writing and SFF community.
And yet, I’ve offered to volunteer to help with Octocon’s online chats, and I’m writing two games for Gaelcon. I’m running a weekly Star Wars game online. And writing two novels at the same freaking time. This is because my mental health is stronger when I have things to work on.
The books are good. The Star Wars game is the best thing I’ve run since Buffy or Deadlands. And I will get a job.
And I will be a real writer again.
