The wrong career choice and a perfect bread for Summer days

This past month has been extremely productive, I think. As we reach its end and enter the month that marks half point through the current year, I sit with a sense of accomplishment - however fickle and fake it may be. Truth is, I've promised myself to not overtax myself this year, not too work too hard, not take so much into my plate, and I believe I've been able to somewhat live up to that. It's a fact I've put a lot of work into these past months, and started and finished a number of things. I've seen them all to completion, and that makes me glad, they're put behind me, it's one less thing staring hard at me. But I feel I've taken it slow, in the end. Despite the six novels and one novella lurking inside folders on my desktop, that is, glaring and demanding I decide what to do with them.

See, the truth is I'm the kind of person who should not be a writer, really. Don't get me wrong, I love writing. I live for it, I breathe it as if air, eat it as if nourishment, it is what keeps me sane and going, it is what gets me out of bed eager to find myself at work. I've had many jobs, of various types, and none has ever made me feel like this. I do love writing. So when I settled for this profession, this 'career' - if I may even call it though, seeing I make so little money out of it most people tell me it's a hobby and not a job - I did it because I love writing. So far so good, you'd say, a writer should love writing, telling a good story, playing with words and sentences and lines of plot and all that. Of course. But that's as far as it gets for me. Most writers, real writers, people who were really born to do this, they love writing, yes, but also sharing their work with others. They love putting their books out there for their readers to enjoy, for people to discover them, for others than them to experience those stories, those words, those lines. I hate that.

It's nothing less than a conundrum, in fact, that I decided to work as a full time writer but then I hate to share what I've written. I hate to edit and revise, I hate to wait for betas' feedback, I hate sorting out covers and blurbs, I hate to rewrite and rework what's not making sense, I hate to format - with a passion - I hate to publish, I hate to sell. I am the worst salesperson to have ever graced this world. I hate promoting my work and I honestly cannot find a way to get sales on those books because... truth be told, I probably don't want to sell. All I want to do is write, and forget about everything else. I don't want to hear readers' opinions, I don't want to deal with cover designers, I don't want to go to and fro with an editor that doesn't understand me nor I them, I don't want to spend my entire day pitching my novels on social media and coming to the end of each month with barely a single sale. I just want to write my stories and forget about the rest.

This makes me the least capable person to be a writer, to have this for a job, a career. And I'm well aware of that. But seeing nothing else gives me as much pleasure and joy as this, I insist, I stubornly demand to be taken seriously because I happen to take my job so seriously, despite the absence of monthly pay, and the already stated failings in my approach to a career that was of my own, personal choice, not imposed upon me by the vicissitudes of life and need. I'm the worst possible writer, although I do believe I write very well. But I'm destined for failure from the start because I lack what it takes, and that is the capacity to do as much for my written books once they're... well, written, as I do when I'm actually writing them. So I've devised a few strategies to ease the burden. The first one is I try to avoid reading reviews and I don't see my sales report until the end of the month. And I don't see it every month. Another thing I do is really treat my writing as a proper, real job. With hours to put in, with goals demanded, with tasks to perform, with the same seriousness as I would any other job. I start work at 9 am and usually end at 5 pm. In the meantime, I divide my writing day into different tasks.

Like writing in the morning. Since the start of this year, I decided I only actually write in the mornings. It's been working out fine, so far I've managed to pen down two 145000 word novels and a 45000 novella, and am 40000 words into my current wip. But with so many books waiting in folders, if I do want to make at least a little money with this, I know I need to handle them. Revise, edit, re-write, edit, re-read, format, and all that. So this is what my afternoons are for. So far, I've managed to work on one novel which is ready for publishing (coming out next October, if you were wondering) and the novella is almost there. But I also use my afternoons to make my social media posts, work on graphics and photoshoots, do the editing of these, come up with teasers and sneak peeks, interact with readers and authors alike, work on the covers and images and all that falls out of the actual writing scope. And it's been working fine for me. Has it improved my productivity? Actually, yes. Has it boosted my sales? My reviews? No, but at least I'm still sane. Like I said, I was born to write, not to be a published writer. That is something I will never, ever succeed at. But while I'm alive, I'll keep on trying, even if only for the sake of being stubborn. But now I make sure I leave enough time for other pleasurable pursuits as well.

Like this delicious cornbread. It has fresh spinach straight from the market and sundried tomatoes, it's savoury and more-ish, delightfully filling and with a hint of sweetness that will leave you satisfied. Here's the recipe:

• 1 cup all purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups cornmeal flour
• 1 1/4 cups of milk
• 4 tbsp melted butter
• 1 egg
• 2 tbsp sugar
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 2 large handfuls of fresh spinach leaves, chopped
• 1/2 cup sundried tomatoes, chopped
• olive oil, salt and pepper, garlic powder

Turn on the oven at 180º, and line your tin with baking parchement. On a fying pan heat up a glug of olive oil. Add the spinach and the tomatoes to it, season with salt, pepper and the garlic powder and let them cook. Once they're done, reserve and let cool. On a bowl, whisk the milk, the egg and the butter together until they're combined and start adding the dry ingredients, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. Mix in the spinach and tomatoes. Once the mixture is smooth, pour the batter into the tin and bake in the oven for about half an hour, keeping a close eye. As soon as the bread is golden and done, take it out of the oven and le it cool completely before unmoulding. Seeing picnic season is just around the corner, this is the perfect treat to pack and head out for a nice day in the woods, or the nearest park, enjoying nature and the sun. Enjoy!