Well, I will get to what I was going to post about in a few paragraphs, so just hold on, okay?
I have been feeling so depressed and absolutely listless about life and writing in particular. I make myself do two or three productive things every day. I have myself trained very well. Sometimes one of the productive things is even writing. That is writing on the WIP, a thing I am so very reluctant to do because I do not want to release it from the confines of its “slave home”–my mind. (That is not a politically incorrect remark, by the by. It is a reference to something my husband screamed out in his sleep the third week we were married. My life is surreal.)
So, today I was doing some “research” which is really being nosy about how some other “authors” that are highly touted are really doing. And I was becoming a bit incensed to find my suspiciaons were justified (which I will get to.) so I decided to blog. I have not written here in a long time and my stats show it. Plus, Thursday I was mugged on Twitter and it was a very painful and drawn out thing to recover from. Anyway…
I open up this blog, (Oh, Blog, how I love thee.) and I had 160 hits yesterday and forty views of Outside Plumbing. I want so badly to know WHY. Aside from the mugging, which may be related, as it brought 600+ spams to my Twitter inbox, I did nothing. This happens all the time. I pine in my room, playing solitaire, forcing myself to put the clothes in the dryer, wondering if I should take up crochet again and then there is one of these whammies. Well, to you, not much of a whammie, but to me quite a whammie.
So I have gone from slightly anxious about the armed felon still on the loose in the neighborhood and the bringing home of the Mercury about which I have extremely mixed feelings, to being high as a kite and needing the opposite from the drug locker from what I originally planned. I have myself trained very well.
Anyway. There is this “happy” person who goes on and on about how happy (This Person) is and how (TP) wants to bring happiness to everyone and everyone should be happy because, just look, it is so easy for (TP) to be happy. This Person is “an international best selling” author. This Person has all this advice and runs all these societies to help the struggling author to reach the happy pinnacle of success (TP) has reached. So I read the reviews. Books selling at about the same ranking as mine. (Currently not good, by the by) One star reviews galore. Weep-inducing. I’ve had one or two. Author page covered with blurbs and praises and the one star reviews saying what a waste of money the book was. And here is the deal. I could do this. If I had the backing, which I know This Person has (financially). I cannot relate how I know that This Person has backing cuz I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I just want to rant and rave and attack from a position of anonymity. So to speak. (And the display of background wealth is pictorially obvious.) I could have that amount of good reviews (which there are) and these nifty covers and these blurbs and be all over the web touting my wonderfulness because someone else was putting the clothes in the dryer for me. And paying a cover designer and a PR agent.
But, I do not even know why I have to spout. Pitiful weak ego image I must have. Percentage-wise, my ranking holds up to this person’s, and my review percentages hold up in comparison, and I did it with no money, which was my cast in stone rule when I started this. So I guess I am just here to pat myself on the back and the numbers from my stats yesterday make it not even hurt so bad when I reach my arthritic old arm back there to do the patting. The self-patting.