Writers Are Big Babies
At least I know I am.
A cleaner can press a shirt and let it go.
He doesn’t have to wait and see how it looks on his customer.
A road worker can fix a pothole and go looking for the next one.
I can’t do any of that.
After I write a story, I feel compelled to watch my lazy stats page to see how I did. And not always to see how I did, but also to see IF I did.
Did I get published or shredded? That’s an immature waste of time on my part. Could I have doubled my output if I had just spent that time writing, rather than waiting?
I have published 472 stories by now, and I can honestly say the people at publications with which I have worked have been so terribly nice and exceptionally helpful, that I feel guilty about starting my own publication.
And I know that’s stupid, too.
Just as it’s stupid to jump from a publication where I have thousands of eyes looking, to my own pub that almost no one knows about.
So I hope the wonderful people who follow me will also consider following my pub, but if they don’t, they don’t. So be it. I have to do this. I may play to an empty theatre for a while, but that’s OK too.
We’re all family, and you’re all invited!
Thanks for reading!
Neither of my high school English teachers thought I would ever amount to much. Well, I showed them — now I’m a big-time writer!
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