I try to be a “glass is half full” kind of person. When I fall down, I pick myself up. When the going gets tough, I get going. So when I see the sales of my books have flat lined, I try to look on the bright side.
Here’s a list of reasons I’m glad I’m not a famous, bestselling author:
I can wear my house shoes to the pharmacy and not worry about getting recognized. (Oh yes. I’ve done that.)
No stalkers. (Can you imagine how many creepers hang out watching for Stephen King?)
Fewer fan emails to answer. I need to save my nimble fingers for typing my next not-so-popular novel.
Lower tax bracket. I “heart” the IRS.
No speaking engagements mean I don’t have to wash my hair as often. (It never looks that good anyway, so why bother?)
No moochers. (I just know that if I made a lot of money that my relatives would crawl out of the woodwork asking for handouts. You know who you are.)
Fewer reviews to worry about. Haters gonna hate.
No television appearances mean I don’t have to lose weight. They say the camera adds 10 pounds. (Am I on camera now? A lot?)
Low expectations. When those famous writers publish a dud — and let’s face it, they all do occasionally — no one will say, “She’s lost her touch. It’s downhill from here on out.”
Fewer decisions. I don’t have to worry about where to take my next fabulous vacation. Or how much to pay the butler. Or what to wear to the Pulitzer Prize Awards Ceremony. (I assume they have a ceremony.)
I’m sure I’ve left out some other major benefits. If you can think of others, put them in the comments below. I could use another pick-me-up.