For about four years—or was it five—I wrote daily encouragements and shared them with friends and family. I published a book called Be Still, which contained the first 365 encouragements I wrote, then continued writing them for a few years. The book sold a few copies, and truth be known, it’s probably been more successful than it deserves to be. I know, Sherry, I know; I’m my own worst critic. But I also know the encouragements I wrote a few years later got better—with regard to writing quality—and I wish I’d waited to publish a book of them.
Getting to my point, I published another book this year called Juli, and the reception it received was staggering. So much so, it knocked me into the proverbial ditch. To date, I’ve received $1.52 in royalties. Mind you, none of this is about the money. I don’t write encouragements, stories, or novels because I think I’ll get rich doing it. I write because, for reasons I can’t figure out, I love to do it. I especially love writing things I think will encourage others.
About a month after publishing Juli, the discouragement of its total failure broke me. Readership of my daily encouragements had dwindled to numbers I didn’t need two hands to tally, and suddenly, the encourager was completely discouraged. I pulled up out of the ditch, and rolled down the road, wheels wobbling wildly, and haven’t written more than a page or two of anything in the past few months. This morning, I realize, the wheels have finally fallen off.
I’m going to leave you hanging here (there’s obviously more to this story) because, for one thing, I love leaving the reader hanging, and for another, I’ve learned most readers won’t read anything that’s too lengthy. So… to be continued…