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State of the Author

I read somewhere that we present idealized portrayals of ourselves in social media. Let me take that notion and dare to step beyond.


Fuck this.

No, that doesn't mean that I'm giving up, but gawd-fucking-damn, fuck this.

I feel ineffective. I feel pointless. I feel frustrated. I do my best to write the best books that I can, only to see them sit there. I can't sell these fucking this.

Marketing, you say. Fuck that, too. No, I don't mean don't do it, I mean that's like saying, "fission, just do it!" You might have an idea of how to reach critical mass, but I have no clue. For me, there is no "just do it."

Take out ads? They won't take my money until I've already done all the right things, already done all the hard marketing by hand. Do my books look like they have a pile of reviews, let alone positive reviews? No? Yeah, I thought so. If you don't meet the prerequisites, they ad places won't take your money.

Network, you say. With who?

I'm sure somewhere, in all that good advice, there is the one right answer, and if I knew which it was among all my possible choices, or the alchemy of choices that I have to make, I'd take it, but I don't know. I do not know absolutely. I must put continuous energy into best guesses, only to guess wrong, or even worse, guess not quite right.

Have any platitudes? Shove it. This isn't asking asking for help, it's about venting stress over my endeavors. By offering platitudes, you say to me, "Your feelings are wrong and we can fix them." No, my feeling are perfectly normal. That's why I'm expressing them, so others out there who want to feel normal can find me ranting and say, "Yay, I'm normal!"