Ernest Hemingway was a drunk

I've always been under the impression that severe unhappiness created writers. 

This has not been my experience. The angst and fight and overall argumentative attitude that my characters have does not reflect inside of my life. In fact, when I feel the tension of an argument coming on, I go to the keyboard. I type it out. Bailey and Daniel fight until their lungs are tired. And my husband and I, we're happy. 

My characters suffer because I am happy. 

Ernest Hemingway was miserable, and a drunk, but he was an incredible writer. Should I develop addiction to create amazing works, and then be found dead in a hotel room before I'm 40? No? Okay. Fine. I'll stick to my glass of wine a night, I guess. 

I believe that unhappiness and angst draws people in, but what gets them to stay is the kind moments. The uncharacteristic moments. When people surprise you. When the hero turns dark, and when the bad guy says he's sorry. If he feels remorse even for a moment, I'm hooked. 

My name is Erin, and after four years of consistently writing, I've decided to consider myself a writer. Or an aspiring writer. I write everyday, but still feel like I'm striving to become something. Which I love. I love a challenge. I love having something to strive to. It's what makes it fun. 

All you self-publishing authors out there: what do you think? Are you happy? I'm about to go down the journey myself and I'm a little terrified. I've worked for so long on my novel, so it's kind of... heart-wrenching to see it actually play out. 

I wonder, idly, if I'm making the right choice. Or if I need to hold out a little bit longer. I'm so afraid of making the wrong decision because it's so important to me.

People ask me if I'm looking to make money, and I'm really not. I just want to write, but a part of writing is having other people read it. Right?

My random ranting is over, and I promise my other posts will have more composure to them.

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