It seems to me that being an author is one of the hardest careers on an ego.
Especially in this age. I would be so much happier if I had no internet connection and couldn't track what people are saying about me and how many books they are buying. I wouldn't have to check my email every few hours (minutes) to see if I'd heard back from my publisher/agent. Instead, I would simply check the mailbox once a day, and then continue on my merry way.
It's amazing how quickly the wind can go out of my sails, so to speak.
And just as amazing how small thinks send me floating high again.
In one minute, I can get a partial request from an agent. In the next thirty seconds, I can get a biting review. A few hours later, I might get a raving email from a reader who simply loved my book. Encouraged, I might then check my sales stats.
Up. Crash. Up. Crash.
Yeah, it's not even an "up down." It's an "up...CRASH."
Sometimes I wonder if this is all really worth it.
There's more to my life than writing, after all. There's cooking--I almost always get favorable reviews there--or reading, or singing, or doing the dishes... All of these things can be very rewarding. And purposeful.
But let's face it. Nothing fulfills me like writing.
And so we carry on, waiting for that next high. Sounds a bit like an addict...
Can you relate? What gives you your highs and lows?