I'm at my first Writer's Conference. It's halfway over. Right now, I'm blogging because I have a chance to. My wife and I had our baby in February, so time has changed it's meaning. The baby owns it now. Anyways, this is an entry about blogging.
I love to blog - always have. Ever since I found out you could put your thoughts into the digital, it had the appeal of fresh pizza. The problem, though, is the same problem I have with all writing, the same with all music, the same with all art...the same with CREATIVITY!
If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound?
If I blog and no one reads it, why blog? If I can't sell a book, why write it? If no one is there to hear my music, why play it? So on. The answers are usually quick as a car wreck:
Market yourself! Sell yourself! Make yourself somethin' everybody wants to read! Here's the God's truth...I hate marketing in words that neither English, French, Latin, Arabic, and possibly Mandarin can express. It sounds like I'm damning myself, but honesty is the beginning for many-a-thing in the ways of self-confidence. If you detest honesty, cease reading at this point.
There is a simple reason I'm a factory worker right now. It's because I do well as a cog in a machine who is given a command to yield a daily quota without straying from that point. I am a function. A diode. A capacitor. Something pretty on a circuit board. I dislike it greatly. Maybe I even detest it, but it's how I am wired. I do not do sales. Sales come as well to me as the
Squeeze Theorem of Calculus. It's always been about that bad customer. Whether it be book stores, gas station attendant, or grocery clerk, I do not cope with the bad customer. If I have one hundred customers and five are bad, rather than focus on the good ninety-five percent, those five bastards have clouded the forefront of my conscience instead. Pessimism runs in my blood. Only now do I question whether pessimism and self-confidence have been rolled into one. If it has, I need serious help.
But there is a genuine feature within me that selling things both within and without of myself was never in the cards. Now, here at the Clarksville Writer's Conference 2015, it is obvious. I pay the price now. I am not successful at authoring because I have not tried. Can I write? Yes. Can I create stuff? Yes. I am proficient in art, music, and the craft of story-telling with excellent grammatical quality. If there is a creative venue I am interested in, I can learn it. But selling it to others? (
crickets with an occasional frog croak and an interstate passerby)
As a dualistic anecdote for myself, I'm trying to see if this entry yields results. I have to admit, this conference has been pretty motivating. There is an impression that writers all over struggle with what I do. That really, really, really helps to know you aren't alone. It's cliché, but I'll say it: misery loves company. In this case, misery loves company tenfold. But what I meant when I said I'm trying to see results is that I would love to have some comments or input. I'll have to experiment and get some followers.
This is new - not particularly exciting, but the prospect of someone hearing the tree falling certainly helps.
Trees falling in the woods deserve to be heard.
