Frankly, you might not be as fucked as you think.

When I started writing romance I was pretty discouraged. 

The year before, I had twelve YA novels stock piled and was SURE I was going to make a gajillion bucks and sail off into the sunset. See, my books were good! They were tropey and heartfelt and special.

 None of that mattered because I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I had no audience, no budget, no idea. I thought I could make my own covers even though I have no graphic design background. I thought I could self-edit even though I am the Queen of Typos. I thought my desire to make it happen would be enough.

It wasn’t. 

I realized pretty quickly that my deficits were an issue. I was in the red, had shitty reviews, and the only award I’d received was for worst indie cover on a crap website that pointed out the kerning on my title for the novel Flicker looked like Fucker. 

I also learned what I really wanted more than anything else was a paycheck.