I sit here, attempting to focus on editing my own writing.Not so much the words, just how they will
look on paper.Making sure sentences and
paragraphs fall into reasonable alignment.Nothing will be perfect, but I’ll be pleased if it looks presentable.
Yet, I am distracted by an unexpected occurrence.Probably nothing earth shattering, but it is
enough to occupy my impatient mind.I
don’t even want to say what exactly this occurrence is, because I fear it would
make it less real, or a complete figment of my feverish imagination.
Suffice it to say that a spark has been detected in the surrounding
darkness.Maybe I shouldn't get
excited about it, but maybe I should.I don’t
know.All I know is that it is nice to
feel something other than nothing.
I have been emotionally
all over the place these last few months. Numbers have, with my willing
permission, ruled my life. At the beginning of each month I check e-book numbers
for personal records, and each month, for many months, the numbers have
remained static. Even though I know what I'll find, the feeling of
failure eats away at my interior, making me doubt everything.
For some reason this time hit me harder than usual, sending me dangerously
close to the edge of a spiraling depression. I'm familiar with this edge.
Visited it off and on many times over many, many years. I've never
fully dived over this jagged edge, but I have dangled my feet over it, daring
the spiraling to drag me down.
Shaking off this latest round of depressive chicken, I contemplate what I want
from my writing. Readers is obviously the first want to pop into my head,
but this is something I cannot control, no matter how frequently I post or
tweet.Please don’t misunderstand, I am
forever grateful to those who have read my e-book serial and who enjoy my
various blog posts. Thank you, to the absolute extreme!
The second want to pop into my head is my oldest, and most dreamt of desire.
To see and hold a physical book with my name on it. With technology
finally catching up with my long-held dream, I can finally see the elusive
finish line. Yet, it is this potential print edition that also lures me
to the edge.
With a print edition of "Dark Excursions" comes another number I can
pretend not to obsess over. This last year has shown me how I completely
suck at generating new interest, so I must have zero expectations. This
print edition is for myself, so I can say I did this! Yet, I know a
flicker of hope will rise in me at the beginning of each month, though history
has shown what I will find.I worry the
edge will look more inviting than ever, or worse, that I will consider my
writing over and done.
What I must do is remember that I write for myself first. Numbers should
not define my success or failure. Easier said than felt, especially in
this number obsessed age, but I must drill this thought into my head...for my
sanity…for my writing.