On comebacks, success, and the agony of writer’s block.
Once upon a time, there was a girl who wrote racy romance novels by HAND on PAPER with a PENCIL. A child of the 90s, this girl wouldn’t have a computer to type out her stories for years to come. But romance was in her blood … had been ever since she entered her jr. high school library to discover sections of books labeled ‘Young Adult’ only to find that they were NOT, truly, written for young adults. A sheltered church-girl with strict fundamentalist parents, the girl had to sneak to indulge in her secret obsession, which only grew more absorbing as she grew older. Reading romance novels (specifically the historical ones) lead to fantasizing about writing them, and the girl switched from angsty teen-girl poetry to the sorts of romantic, fantastical tales she would want to read. The obsession continued throughout her life, and she churned out story after story, eventually switching from paper and pencil to a Dell computer with the newly released Microsoft Word processor.
In 2009 the girl decided that maybe she should try to get her work published. It had become a dream of hers to see her stories in paperback and on shelves in books and libraries, wedged in between Brenda Jackson and Julia Quinn. But this girl—now a woman—came to learn that the traditional publishing world was nearly impossible to breach. Rejection after rejection came, until the woman decided maybe she wasn’t good enough after all. Maybe, like the agents and publishers seemed to hint at, no one would really want to read her stories. They weren’t mainstream. They weren’t marketable. They weren’t worth investing in.
In 2011, the woman received a Kindle reader as a gift from a family member. While filling her new device with her favorite types of books—romance novels, duh!—she discovered something that would change her life. A lot of the authors whose books appealed to her had published THEMSELVES! Until recieving that Kindle, the woman didn’t know such things were possible. A few Google searches later, she became possessed by an idea. The idea wouldn’t go away. It wouldn’t let her sleep. It wouldn’t let her focus on the day-to-day tasks of a military spouse and stay-at-home mother. Her life had become about taking care of and supporting other people; she hadn’t thought about her own ambitions in years. Like a seed, this idea implanted itself in her head and formed roots. Those roots led to tender little green shoots thrusting up out of the dry and cracked ground of a mind grown bored with the minutae of everyday life. Those shoots grew taller and taller, until the idea became tangible. A book cover, a blurb, an upload … and her first book became available on Amazon.
Self-publishing was like the Wild West in those days. Everything was new, and only a handful of experts were able to shed light on how to sell books in a world dominated by corporate publishers. In the beginning, the woman only wanted to see if anyone anywhere would read her book. Maybe, if just a handful of people could enjoy and possibly validate her work, she was good enough after all. Maybe, publishers could be taken out of the equation and woman could cultivate her own little audience. The first book was stupposed to have been a standalone, but the choice of killing a secondary character became to devasting to ponder. So the woman wrote his story next, and then another, and another, and a series was born. Reviews for those books were mostly positive, leading the woman to think maybe this could be a real career for her. She went from being excited over a single sale, to making enough money in a month to buy groceries for her family, or pay the electric bill, or the cable bill. She went from rocking babies all day and skimming novels in the few spare moments she had, to writing and promoting her work (while still rocking those babies).Subscribed
This woman, as ecclectic in her choice of reading material as she was in her style of clothes and choices of music, couldn’t be content in only one genre. Finding her stride in the shark-infested waters of indie publishing, she expanded and explored. She wrote historical romance, paranormal romance, contemporary romance. She wrote Young Adult fantasy and dystopia. She wrote dark and twisty erotica with dark edges and taboo themes. She stretched herself over three pen names and turned a passion into a business. For over a decade she worked like an engine, writing books, releasing books, promoting books, collaborating with other authors to write and promote more books, and managing three websites and three sets of social media.
In the end, the woman ran herself into the ground. The books were selling, there were fans begging her for the next book, and her one-income household was now a real, true two-income situation. Sales expanded to include multiple ebook platforms. Investments in audiobook production brought her into a new space and in front of new audiences. All this she acheived without ever having an agent, and only working with a handful of publishers in her own timing and on her own terms. None of this had been part of the original plan, but it felt like destiny. It felt like the girl who had written her stories with paper and pencil was living her dreams.
But like most dreams, the reality wasn’t so rosy or so perfect. The work that it took to remain at the top of her game year after year began to wear her down. She had become like a grindstone, turning and turning, and grinding and grinding, ceaselessly. She had spend so many years hunched over a computer keyboard that she’d developed tendonitis in her wrists. She suffered migraines from staring at computer screens for twelve hours a day. She became depressed because no matter how hard she worked, there were others who didn’t seem on the outside like they were grinding the way she was … and they were selling twice as many books as her. There was the social media scheduling, and the website updates, and the constant stream of emails from readers and other authors. There were the newsletters, and the Facebook groups, and the flow and ebb of trends that are as fickle as a sea in a storm. Through it all, she never stopped writing, for her mind was like a tornado, constantly spinning and sucking things in and spitting them out. There were so many characters and stories; so many IDEAS! She had to write them all. She had to put them out into the world and she had to keep her business going. Her husband and children counted on the income she recieved from her work. The business itself required constant investment to keep things going. In the end, she did what everyone does when they have extended themselves too much for far too long. She crashed.
A few years ago, she went through something devastating and highly personal. This thing was so painful and so damaging, that she didn’t write for nearly three years. Her creativity shriveled up and died. Stories about love were impossible to craft when her heart was so broken and her spirit so heavy. Reading for fun lost its appeal, and she couldn’t get through more than a few chapters of fiction before she gave up in disgust. What good was it to lose onesself in fantasies, when ones life was disintegrating before their own eyes? What good was writing when it wasn’t even fun anymore? It had become a JOB, something she HAD to do no matter how she might be feeling at any given time.
At first, the woman did what she was known for. She tried to push through and soldier on. She forced herself to sit and write at least 500 words a day (when her previous daily word counts had ranged from 2-5k). She tried to return to her most favorite books, hoping they would inspire her as they had before. She even turned to film, paying particular attention to dialogue. None of it worked. The more she tried, the harder it was to find that passion and that fire. The harder it was to go on pretending that her normal way of doing things was no longer working. It had, in fact, only worked at the time because she had neglected so many other areas of her life to MAKE it happen.
In 2021 this woman went back to school to finish her degree. She had dropped out over a decade before to be a mother, and hadn’t really thought she needed to go back. She had forged her own path and established her own business and career, and didn’t need 4 years of school to teach her how to be successful at what she did. But there had to be MORE. There had to be some new passion she could discover that might eventually lead her back to the old one. Or, maybe that time in her life had passed and it was time to move forward into something else.Subscribed
In 2025 this woman will graduate from Texas A&M University-Central Texas with a Bachelors of Science in Sociology with a minor in Political Science. She spent the past 4 years learning new and exciting things about herself and practicing balance. Work-life balance. Home life balance. Social life balance. She saw herself as she never had before, understanding that everything she was, everything she had become, had begun with that little girl scribbling her stories with paper and pencil. And it wasn’t over yet.
As you’ve probably figured out, this woman is me. Hi, I’m Victoria (at least to you, anyway) and I write romance novels. Erotic romance novels. Dark romance novels. Not-yo-mama’s-Fabio-covered romance novels. I’ve written many other things, but on this platform and in this space, this is who you will know me as. 2025 is the year of a ‘comeback’ of sorts for me. A hiatus from writing, publishing, and promoting has given me time to evaluate my career and where it goes from here. For those who have followed me in the past, I have to say: I can’t promise you what you’re used to from me. I can’t promise 6 books a year, or an audio production for every title, or specialized book boxes with cool swag. And, I can honestly say … I not longer WANT to be the author who gave you those things. Not because it wasn’t dope as shit. Not because I don’t appreciate my readers. Not because of the time and money and effort that goes into these things. It’s because the author who gave you those things almost killed herself trying to be an idea instead of a person. The author who did all that writing and publishing and promoting had sacrificed her mental health and well being in pursuit of success. A lot of people will tell you it’s the price to be paid for greatness—that you have to make those sacrifices in order to come out on top.
I say … BULLSHIT. Team No Sleep? Not over here! We take naps over here. Team Rise and Grind? We sip coffee and take our time in the morning because we hate mornings. Team Work Work Work? No, team Work Play Work! It’s all about balance!
Anyway, welcome to my world. It’s dark and weird and unhinged at times, but where else can we explore those sides of ourselves if not through art and media? My work isn’t everyone’s jam, and I’m okay with that. I know my audience. I know myself. And now I will take that knowledge into a new era of writing and creating. Join me … if you dare…
XOXO,
Vicki