I found that I was mistaken, about a great many things. Yes, this is a coming out post and about starkly honest matters in general. Deal.
First, allow me to rip the bandage off myself: I am transgender.
Woo hah. Hard part’s done, right?
Many of my life’s mysteries have indeed been solved by this revelation, connecting puzzle pieces whose solutions have eluded me most of my life. It makes more sense now, why I have so thoroughly been a misfit in almost every endeavor I undertake in life. Why I don’t get along with men and indeed am generally repulsed by them. Why I’ve hated myself since the onset of puberty. Why I for so long couldn’t stand the sight of myself or the sound of my voice. Why I have physiologically and psychologically suffered, and also failed in so many relationships where the other person thought they were getting a man in the deal.
So many whys, and now so many answers, but there are new sets of challenges. Some will be more linear than others as I work to correct the biological damage my unwanted hormones did to me, but some obstacles are going to be more obtuse to overcome. The most pertinent one to mention as I write this blog, is of course how this all affects me as an author.
I’m still trying to figure that one out.
If it was a matter of simply changing pseudonyms, I would already have done it. But I never have exactly had much of an author identity anyway, so I’m almost better off starting from scratch. Except, I do have this series, this world and these characters that I cherish so much, and I can’t abandon them outright. And I know there are a few peeps out there who feel the same way. I appreciate them. I also appreciate you, whoever you are, for reading this. I thank all of you who have kept up with my random and scattershot writings these past years, and left likes or comments.
But, the sad truth is that it is unsustainable. What I am about to tell you is meant as education, not as a pity party for me. If you are thinking of self-publishing, do not do what I have done. I have made less than a dollar from my works in the last 3 months. Amazon won’t even list After Terra on its first few pages of search results despite the quite specific nature of the title. I can’t even give my books away. Every post I make about my writing on social media gets buried, I’ve been ignored when asking for help from marketers, every sponsorship deal I’ve tried to arrange so far has left me ghosted or ignored, every ad I’ve run has been money thrown in the trash, and the cost of commissioning just one of my book covers is more money than I’ve made off of writing in my whole life, period. And now, having lost a great job because of COVID-19, with debt out my arse because of a failed marriage and relocation, and dealing with transitioning so that I can at least be happy in my own skin for once in my life, I can’t afford to use any more money to try to climb this impossible hill of getting my books noticed. DON’T DO WHAT I HAVE DONE!
If what I am doing now is to continue, I. Need. Help. Now, I’m not asking for handouts. TANSTAAFL. Though in a fantasy world it’d be great to have a benefactor who paid for my transition costs and sponsored me as an author, I know that’s unrealistic. I don’t expect to be given something for nothing. However, I also cannot produce something with nothing. Running this website and fighting the impossible war of getting After Terra and my other works noticed, as well as making new content, costs money and time. So, for whatever reason from all of the above you think is worthy, consider supporting me. I have a Patreon page, I have Paypal, I have an Onlyfans page (hah), and can be contacted directly at email@example.com
Yes, this sounds like a plea. No, I’m not trying to use my newly discovered status of being the T in LGBT as a crutch or cry for attention. What I want you to understand is that I am a human being in pain, frustration, and despair over having all of this creativity going absolutely nowhere. I want to make more, I want to share, I want to give people the same kinds of experiences that my favorite stories have given me through my whole life. But, I can’t get any further without help. This is one author girl strung out on her metaphorical last rope.