So there you are, having now completed the next contribution to that fascinating world of classic literature; and if you happily mumble to yourself 'I'm the next Kafka', who can blame you. What you've done is what many aspiring drunken wannabe writers threaten to do, write a book, but somehow never manage to accomplish it. A book! A book! Esmerelda, for whom the bells endlessly toll across the bows of the old man of the sea, who's drifting the seven seas looking for Moby Dick, look I've written the book to end all books! It's a masterpiece, worthy of that immortal master wordsmith, Dr. Suess! The cat in the hat slyly raising an eyebrow in bored contempt, before falling back to sleep in utter disdain.
Having spent so much time writing the book, of carefully crafting sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter, you've not given much thought about that most telling of armchair critics, your audience. Dear friends will delight in you having finished your magnificent contribution to literary excellence before moving on to more urgent issues related to how soft toilet paper should be! Some friends will offer encouraging platitudes that further bolster your grossly enlarged ego. Some remain strangely silent, but you put that down to technical difficulties in completing the book buying experience over the Internet. Failure is nothing more than a euphemism for avoiding paying the price of a cup of coffee. But you give your friend the benefit of the doubt, because they have many, and you have absolutely none!
Reality is a miserable monster at the best of times, and to be honest the basis of your book. As a writer you're not just a writer, but all the characters in your finished ditty; or at least a delve into your dark and very distant past so as to wreak literary murder on those characters in your life whom deserve their fifteen minutes of belittling fame, something you've waited years to happen. Once the euphoria has subsided, there's a disconcerting silence and the long winding road of public appreciation is a mountain of such huge proportions it becomes ever more evident that Martin Amis you ain't, not that that was the plan in the first place.
You're thankful that you've made some sales, but nowhere enough to buy a loaf of bread every day for one full year. You begin to doubt your literary genius. You curse your friends in such mundane ways, that the knowledge of love is your's, and theirs, saving grace; there are times in your life when you can honestly admit you're a stupid berk for having such ungrateful thoughts, no matter how fleeting. It's quite sobering to realise that whilst literally you have so few friends, due to the endless hours, days, weeks, months and maybe years spent staring at a computer screen, your greatest failure is a complete lack of marketing.
I readily admit I'm no more knowledgeable about marketing, than I am about producing flying pigs. Such mythical wonders are commonplace in my every day life; at least they make more sense than marketing tactics. But where do you start? Well, I could become infamous through having gone on a shooting spree, but I don't particularly want to spend any time doing time. I could accidently produce a YouTube video that gets a million hits, but I've no desire to appear any more of an idiot than I already am. I could, at a stretch, streak through the centre of town but that's doomed to failure due to the cold weather, everything has gone into hibernation.
But having sat down and thought about it, I didn't write my two tomes with marketing in mind; I wrote my two books because I wanted to sit down and see if I had the discipline to do it. Both took up a lot of my time, but time that was usefully used on accomplishing my dream; one that appeared during childhood, went to sleep and woke again after many years had passed by. Nor did I have it in mind to actually use the books as a way to contributing back to society, but that part makes wonderful sense.
I've always had a social 'conscience', of following the words, no doubt paraphrased wrongly, of Sir Thomas More, who said that those whom are educated should use that education to best effect by giving back to society. It doesn't matter that I'll die as a pauper, not that that bothers me in any great way; money I've always had deep misgivings about the stuff, and I've never been a fan as such as it always manages to bring the worst out in people; there are exceptions to the rule and they know who they are. But the books are out there and they might just be able to help others achieve their 'dream'.
The thing about dreams is that if they're to come true they need the support to come to fruition. Yes, we can all sit down and develop a social conscience at this time of year, but do we actually make a difference? I'd like to think so, that's why I write books. I've no great desire to become wealthy, what on earth would I do with it? Yes, you might have an answer but the only thing I'd truly like is to carry on in some way maintaining my very simple life, doing the things I enjoy doing, being creative, teaching, and trying to make one individual per day smile.
I know this has been a long blog, you might be reading it and I thank you if you're still with me at this point; it's nice to think I've still got company! Anyway, my books are on sale, click on one of the book covers at the top right hand corner and it takes you straight to the site where you can buy an eBook copy. The vast majority of the book sales will go to three different causes I believe in. Yes, you can get a 'free' 25% download of the book as a sample, but for the price of a cup of coffee, $3.99, why not simply buy the whole book instead!
No, writing isn't all it's cracked up to be, but it's a great way of potentially helping others.
Warm regards
Toni
.
No comments:
Post a Comment