You realized recently that a lot of the great writers suffered a great deal, and then used that suffering and pain as source material for their writing. That got you thinking about how much suffering you’ve had. Probably not even enough for an entire full-length novel.
You were raised by two loving parents in a relatively affluent suburb. You had everything you needed most of your life, and even most things you wanted. You never had to go hungry or homeless or survive a bombing or invasion. In short, you’ve had it pretty easy.
Now, there is the issue of your self-inflicted suffering, and that probably does count for something. All the times you beat yourself up for things you did or didn’t do, all the times you were hit with waves of depression and/or anxiety, all of those have left their mark. So there is some suffering. All unnecessary and most self-created, but suffering nonetheless.
So you add that all up and what do you get? About a novella’s-worth, you figure. A 200-page, breezy, large font book. Light reading, like, maybe for the beach.
You’d have to lose one of your parents or battle a life-threatening disease to get to a full novel’s-worth, you figure.
As for multiple books? You’re not even close to that level of suffering yet. You’d have to have a drastic life change for that to be possible – time in prison or a war zone. Your privileged upbringing has not supplied you with the necessary life experience to fuel mutliple novels.
Just stick with your novella, Suburb Boy. It fits you. Anything more is pushing it.
