This year has been…incredible. And I owe you all so much gratitude that I don’t really know where to begin.
The Goddess of Nothing At All is my debut novel. I’m an indie author, and by all rights, I should be swimming in utter obscurity right now. But I’m not. While I’m certainly still a small-time author, I’ve also surpassed the majority of the milestones I set for myself. There’s this small-but-powerful band of readers who advocate for my book every chance they get. I feel utterly blessed to have them. It’s because of them that I stand to make a career out of this.
Everything I have ever known tells me that something like this should have never happened to someone like me.
When I was a teenager, I would walk to my tiny community library after school several times a week. We didn’t have the internet at home because a computer was too expensive, so I’d log on to the public access PC and browse the provincial loan system, placing holds on books by the droves. Each Tuesday I’d walk home with a pile in my backpack, one foot in front of the other, book in my face. (It’s a really good thing that the walk was a straight line and that I only ran into a muskrat one time, cause walking without looking isn’t the best idea.) I’d drown myself in books, usually several a week, and I became that girl who was always reading.
All that is to say, I have always loved stories. But we weren’t well off and it never once occurred to me I could be an author. I wrote trashy fanfic with my bestie and imagined other lives for myself, but I knew that when push came to shove, I needed a stable career that I could use to lift my loved ones out of poverty.
So I went to animation school for two years, then to public relations school, and found myself burnt out with two diplomas in three years. (Imagine thinking that an art and communication diploma was a fool-proof way to make money.)
It wasn’t what I planned. I never got that job that was going to save us. Things just carried on and got a little better without my imagined wads of cash. I felt like a fraud. I was supposed to do something with my life. Everyone had always said so. Except I was back at home, living with my parents, working at a Wendys. Fucking hell.
…And because I worked at that Wendys, I met the person who introduced me to my spouse. I followed him across the world, which landed me square in an unknown land, lost and lacking the language, without a community and bored. I was itching in my own skin for some kind of purpose. So I started writing again.
All the days and nights that I spent slinging coffee and flipping burgers while my student loans burned a hole in my pocket? They weren’t for nothing.
So when I say that I’m grateful for your support, this is the depth of my gratitude. When you support an author, it isn’t just some loose change for a coffee. It’s lifting them into the career of their dreams, giving them the financial independence to walk away from the job that gets them by. It’s a confirmation that they are supposed to be writing. That everything was worth it to get to this place, this novel, this page. Because of you, I finally get to use those diplomas for something I love to do.
Thank you for every tweet, every post, every time you suggest my book to anyone. I get to be here, doing this, because of you.
In 2022, I’m going to be doing an experiment. For the first two months after my move, I’m going to write full time. During those two months, I’ll assess what I can accomplish, see how well I can set myself up for success, and decide how viable it’ll be in the future. I hope it’ll go well. Maybe it won’t. But you’ve put me in a position to try, and I’m going to go for it.
Have a safe, healthy, happy New Year, and I’ll see you in 2022.