I thought I should write something so that people won’t think I threw myself into the canal three days ago. That quote on my Goodreads page is a(n unfortunate) joke — I don’t even have a garage. Or any rope.
As I’ve said on my “about me” page, this blog is where I come to vent. I know that blogs are supposed to be informative and entertaining and all that crap. I’m suppose to write dissertations about why Buffy is problematic or why grimdark fiction is overrated or why science fiction today is X,Y, and Z.
Instead I’m ranting about my stories being hard to get reviews (I think Amazon even deleted some of them, those bastards) and bitching on occasion about my shitty life. But if people want to be entertained, they can just read one of my books. That’s what they’re for.
Feel free to jump to tl;dr
For me, this is just a place where I come to rant and blow off steam. So if I’m sad, I write about it. If I’m mad, I write about it.
Today I cried because I realized my computer wasn’t high-end enough to play a video game I wanted. Then I cried because I realized I couldn’t afford to eat, let alone play video games. Then I just cried.
I hate my life.
I don’t care that other people have it worse some where. I mean, I care, but that doesn’t instantly forbid me from feeling depressed about my own shitty life. I have a basic right to my nerd pain.
This blog will only have value to two people.
People who are . . . .
1) Me (duh)
and 2) people who have established some kind of writer/reader relationship with me through reading my books.
And by a “relationship” I mean a readership. This means you have read my book, you liked it, you even want more, and now you empathize with me as a human being. My “art” connected our souls. Etcetera, etcetera, and so forth. So naturally, this blog will interest you. Congratulations. You are now my fan. Please step this way for a free balloon.
Joking aside. . .
Websites and blogs serve to humanize writers, because for some reason, our books — you know, those pieces of our soul — aren’t enough to make people see we’re just human beings like everyone else. Of course, the internet being what it is, websites ultimately fail to humanize us, but they have their uses.
It sucks being a writer. It really sucks ass. And yet I just keep doing it. I must hate myself.
Writers do the most work and get the least money. Writers are somehow more open to hatred, disdain, and scorn. Writers have to fight the hardest to get anywhere in our career, because even some actors and dancers and artists can just skate by on mere mediocrity.
But not writers. Unless we write mainstream shit, in which case we’re golden whether our writing is crap or not.
Even writers hate other writers.
We are the only creatives who people feel justified treating like garbage. I recently saw this thread in a Goodreads group where these people were bragging about how mean and nasty their reviews were. I left the group . . . then I left every other group I was in and decided to just never speak to anyone on Goodreads again. The place is a cesspool.
If you understood what it took to write a book, you would not trash someone’s work — unless they deserved it for being racist/sexist/homophobic/some kid of bigot. And even then, it’s not right to trash people. Even bigots are people — in some way.
You’ll notice I posted my shit-rant review of Constantine’s revolting Wreaththu books here on my blog instead of on a review site where I would damage her non-career. I did that because I know her disgusting internalized misogyny is subconscious — gross as it is — and bashing her is not going to help her grow as a person. (I doubt anything could at this point, to be honest.)
I guess telling the truth about her book could have helped some other people avoid her writing, though. I know I was pissed when I bought some copies of her work, only to discover it was a bunch of woman-hate. If only I’d read that Goodreads review trashing her for the self-loathing garden slug she is.
Still, trashing writers like that is pretty shitty. Leaving short reviews like “this is shit” with zero explanation is just . . . . But people think it’s perfectly fine to do that to writers, especially if they’re indie. Somehow, the most hatred is reserved for indie authors alone.
I’ve seen people say that indie authors are targeted because we haven’t been rejected by traditional
authors publishing and have thin skin. That speaks to the ignorance of people who are not writers.
Most indie authors are people who have been rejected again and again and again by the traditional publishing world. Then they self-publish and face even more rejection and ridicule from readers, and they seem thin-skinned when finally snap and they react like morons. No, they aren’t thin-skinned. They’re just tired of being treated like shit and are tittering on the verge of sniping people on the highway.
As I’ve said on my “about me” page, I’ve been trampled, spit on, and treated like utter crap by editors, by agents, by publishers, and by readers. I’m not going to flip out over bad reviews. I don’t even read reviews. If people want to be jerks, fine. I’m already aware the world is a shitty place.
You can’t break someone who’s already broken.
Long rant short, I didn’t kill myself. I doubt I could succeed. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d had many near-death experiences. Either I’m very lucky (not really) or someone doesn’t want me to die (doubt it) or maybe my body is just stubborn and refuses to give.
As for Light-year Lion, book 4 of The Prince of Qorlec, I’ve spent the past three or so days writing it feverishly. I’ve gotten half-way through the first draft now, meaning I’m at the 229 page mark.
I’m about to work on the chapters where Quinn travels from planet to planet, meeting different weird aliens and building an army, while Thalcu has her battle of wits with General Phorott (I suspect those chapters will be hard to write).
Then there will be the ultimate conflict at the end of the book, which forces Quinn to leave Ardav (naturally) and take the fight to Qorlec.
tl;dr Book 4 is coming along nicely.
Also, I’m a very depressed individual but it’s nothing anyone online needs to worry about. Please don’t do things because you pity me.
Do things because you are sincerely interested in what I write.