Today I realised something painful and distressing, something I don’t want to admit to but something I have to face sooner or later. People don’t like my writing and they just aren’t interested in even taking a look.
This hurts me in many ways, which I won’t go into to save you thinking (as you naturally would) that this is a sob story. Suffice to say that I feel deflated and disheartened to the point that I’m thinking of giving up writing altogether.
People just refuse to buy my books and they won’t even come here to the blog and read the free excerpts and free short stories I have here. I check the stats and can see how many visit and click so I know what I’m saying is true.
What I don’t know is whether this is because the market is so over saturated with indie published books that there’s too much choice, or whether it just because my work is shit. And, it’s no use asking you because you never read my stuff so how would you know if it’s shit or not?
The only thing I can say is that deep in my heart I didn’t start writing to make money. I started writing in June 2011 because one night, as I sat at the computer, something overwhelmed me and I began to write. 8 hours later, at 4am I dragged myself away from the computer to bed and knew I had the beginnings of a whole book at last. Having wanted to write a book since I was a kid, here I was approaching 50 and finally I was writing a book. I write because my soul demands that I write. I write because there is something or someone standing beside me, telling me their story and telling me that I’m the one they’ve chosen to tell it to the world. I write because it’s the only way to get my voice heard and yes, I do have a voice that has been screaming to get out for fifty years.
So should I give up or continue? I don’t know. Maybe I should just write and save everything to a disc or a memory stick and ask for it to be buried with me when I die, or kill myself, whichever is sooner. Maybe I should stop. One thing is for sure, I’m not giving everything away for free. If I’m not worthy of a few pennies of your money, you’re not worthy of weeks of my time and energy. If I write and no one sees what I write, the universal consciousness will know I’ve written and my words will be a part of the flow of the universe, whether heard or unheard by these creatures who were, so recently, grunting apes.
I read someone the other week who was also contemplating giving up, for similar reasons, and one thing they said stuck in my mind. They said “you disappoint me greatly, all of you. You stand with hands open when in need but turn your backs when in plenty. You are so consumed by greed that you cannot even open your mouth and offer genuine encouragement to someone who is doing something that you cannot.” I don’t know whether I’d go quite that far, but he’s got a point..!
The book market is over saturated with books, thanks to the indie publishing revolution, and much of it is tripe. Those works that are good get lost amongst the trash, not because they are not worthy but because they are buried in rubbish and people are tired of wading through the excrement of uneducated minds to find those words that inspire and set their imaginations aflame.
I’m hoping the market crashes, and soon. Maybe then a few brave souls will find my work and read it.