Sometimes I wonder

Is it worth it?

As I embark on the edge of a new announcement to all those on my mailing list, most of whom never respond, I have that toe in the water anticipation.  Will it be warm or cold as ice?

I get no feedback without asking so I can’t believe it’s genuine.  I can’t beg someone to read my manuscript for errors.  No one has time to visit my websites I worked so hard on.  Few have time to read.  I’m living in a bowl of water trying to sell water to the others in here with me.  It all sounds like popping bubbles on the top of the bath water or swimming pool.  Something’s escaped.

Remember the little fish with the helmet full of water in the Chicken Little animated movie?  That’s what we all sound like, garbled nothingness, while being caught in the turnstile.  When will this circular motion end?  When the tread’s gone, or the rut’s too deep.  Running in place…

I never wanted to be famous, that’s why I publish with a pseudonym.  I only want to accomplish something and have it appreciated by many.

I could be like the writer in my in-the-works-story, DOME, who was only famous in her circle, appreciated by an old college professor, and blown-off by her family, living alone until she died.  But she found something amazing, but never told anyone.  It had to be discovered by the right person, and not one she would have chosen.

I don’t think I’ll ever be like the writer in my published novel, Ariel’s Cottage.  She had to experience something horrendous, and barely recover, to write about it and make it big, even a movie.  But crime often sells well.  Reading about the bad stuff that happens to others makes us feel lucky it wasn’t us.  The same for horror.  Being scared out of our wits is better than being shoved into a small dark room without food, water or comfort for days on end, just to be pulled out and beaten and raped…again.

Now you want to know more, right?  How sick is that?  Two ladies talking silly about others over a cup of coffee isn’t as intriguing?  Too bad.  It could be.  It could be a good story, too, and not as disturbing.

When I get all this social media connected and play the reply and comment game for a while, I’ll get back to writing.  For my eyes to be this blurry and my back to hurt this much and to have tired screaming through me like it is, I’d like to have something to show for all this effort.

But I probably won’t.  And no one will notice.  After I publish that last book it will surely be a night like tonight, maybe a couple years from now.  Then when I lay down, I hope I never have to get up again, but let someone else take over doing all this.

But they probably won’t.  Some stranger will discover something wonderful and wonder why no one took notice while I was still breathing.  Doesn’t that happen to a lot of artist…that’s why they’re starving.  So far, I’m not, but it’s so close sometimes it’s as scary as a horror story and as painful as torture.

Goodnight.  Sweet dreams.  I feel a story coming on.

Categories: About Social Media, About Writing, Random Thoughts to Share | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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