Make A Wish Upon A Star.

Or Whack-A-Mole.

“You’re in touch with something greater than yourself, Hans, something bigger than Hans,” my therapist said to me after I explained the rollercoaster I’ve been on the last week.

“I’m really going out on a limb,” I explained. I tried to paint the picture, of me spending every penny I make or am given on my publishing business, which up till now, has had its successes but real profits have yet to be made. Of how I ride my bike when I deliver, and there are days, when I just pray, to solidify my faith, to wish it into existence, huffing and puffing, sweating and drying. My legs are sore. I stretch them. I roll them. I sauna. All that and when I wake up, still sore.

But no can do, the advertisements for Christmas are going to skyrocket, hopefully, so will the sales. Need the money for the winter tires, with Stubbs, for last week I left defeated after I was about to descend a little, in the night sky glistening hill. Glistening, for it was covered in ice. And I thought, “Man, these few bucks can’t be worth my health,” and I turned around. They deducted six euros from my account for not finishing the order, but they don’t add six euros to it when an order is delayed. They make the rules, right?

I am scared. Scared but excited. A rollercoaster of aiming high but smiling at the abyss below. I could save the money I receive, continue my studies, have a stable income, a stable future, a stable routine, and a place in society. I chose to play whack-a-mole with Amazon KDP. I never wanted to whack a mole this much. I see my bank account, which was just at 3K yesterday, go to 90€ in two days, calculating in a fever whether I’ll have enough to pay for food.

No can do, get the bike, we have orders to deliver. Should I really be hiring an ads agency? Shouldn’t I try to get it done myself? Didn’t I try myself up until now? What did I achieve? Just to see my budget burned stupidly because I’m too emotional? I see the sales coming in, oh-oh-oh it’s happening—rack up the budget!!! I rack up the daily budget, next day, budget burned. So I rack it down, lower than it was before, out of fear of losing too much.

It’s not that I don’t understand, it’s that I can’t handle the pressure. I’ll overthink and rationalize until I eventually hit that damn budget adjustment button. I wake up, fighting all the demons not to check my damn phone for eventual ad orders or sales coming in, letting the outcome of what I see pre-determine my mood for the rest of the day.

With each book I write or let be written I build up my trust and excitement. If I didn’t, how could I expect success? If I don’t believe in my books, how would others? You give birth to this baby book, just to see it have its limbs broken by the market and eventually die of hunger. Each pregnancy is tied with costs. Costs, which make Dada go cray cray. Now that I think about it, I pay, to see my babies die. Now, you tell me I should take it lightly and just brush it off?

Despite that cycle of birth and death, I remain very enthusiastic and positive, or so my friends and collaborators tell me. “Thanks, Hans, for being so optimistic about our project, it really makes me want to commit to this.” I reply, “My pleasure man. I’m building a living here. I pray every day.” Laughter followed. “You inspired me to start this…” or “I think I want to start something myself.” Every time I hear that I say, “Beware, it is a very unstable and nerve-wracking path.” But would I have listened if they told me? No chance.

I don’t want the money for the bling bling, although one or two shinies are permitted. I know exactly what awaits me if I pull this off. Sure, financial security is a big dream of mine, but temporal and financial freedom has its risks. What do I do, on a day-to-day, if I have a passive income and no real responsibilities? High in openness and neurotic as I am, I’ll just drift to Neverland and meet my old friend Peter Pan. Dancing with elves, playing video games, playing harmonica, studying Finnish, and doing jiu-jitsu. All good and nice, but, for how long? How long can you enjoy lukewarm rooms and safety until you go, fuck, I want something to carry, I need a problem to solve?

I know many people who will go, “Nah, not me man. I’d enjoy that.” Yeah, you’re just saying that, because you haven’t yet had the chance to try. It doesn’t work. I hate to break it to you.

Foreseeably, I want to make my own publishing company. I want to hire authors, without stupid soul-draining contracts, and give a voice to stories that would otherwise be unheard. Begone, gatekeepers. With the internet, the platforms we have, the social media, we don’t need traditional publishing companies anymore. Build a brand with a solid following and you’ll have what you need to boost any new author, putting the fact I’d have the money to support their covers, editing, and publishing aside.

But that’s too far ahead, too unrealistic to even type down and not feel daring. But a bit daring is ok. Ok then, I want to have a café, and invite all my author friends over, and have a big dinner, with pints of ale and good music, celebrate life and our shared journey. Okay, now it’s enough.

I’m tired. I’m afraid. But it is bearable. Only, because I have an amazing girlfriend that supports me and friends that believe in me. I really feed off of it. Trust me. Once I make it, I’ll be taking you all with me. Now excuse me while I try to find sleep on this night train. Didn’t have the budget to get the bed, so I’ll cuddle with the seat.