As I prepare to publish my first new title in 5 years I realize the depression I have been battling, the feeling that something was off can be greatly attributed to my writing, or lack there of. I have missed this. The self-expression. The connection with people that connect with me, if only through my kink. The assurance that I am doing what I have always dreamed of doing.
So why did I stop? Simply: Censorship.
Amazon and NookBook declared my "kinky fuckery" too much to be sold. Amazon pulled 18 of my books. Seven of which were my top sellers. All my babysitter books. Gone. All my rape fantasies. Gone. My taboo experiment.
It wasn't just about the money dropping by half. Every title I write has a connection to an inner part of me in a way that only creators might understand, and being told that a significant part of you is dirty or gross stings. Like bully on the playground sting. Like bottle it up for years talk about it in therapy sting.
But I digress.
The habits come smoothly back. Both the good and the bad. The good of "Entering my office" by turning on my music each day. The bad of checking sales first thing. The good of remembering all my formatting rules. The bad of fear of putting myself out there.
Today I'm focusing on my habits, acknowledging and giving them purpose.
I got this.