I was going to start this blog entry saying that how to get published consumes my thoughts most of the day and, at times, most of the night, too. Everywhere I turn people say “this is how” and they present their list of what to do which any idiot can figure out. The how is something else entirely. And then I remember what I wrote about some time ago – getting published is easy. What really consumes my thoughts is how to create demand for my work. Ah, that’s a different animal entirely.
This morning I read on a writer’s forum someone asking for advice about blogging, and one of the replies struck a chord with me. Keep a camera with you – photos and such make for easy and interesting blogging. Just a short while earlier I’d pointed out the mist covered mountains not far away to my son, and I started thinking about all the difficulties I’m going through trying to figure out what I need to figure out.
So after leaving my son off at school, I swung by the house, picked up my camera, and drove out a few miles towards the Superstitions. Where the road turned sharply and inexplicably to the south, I pulled over, took a deep breath, and paused for a moment, and noticed just how different the scents and sounds were here even though I was just a few miles from home. In the distance were the mountains – the whole reason for me being out there, and I began thinking about Tolkien and Zeppelin and Dire Straits, wishing I had a little magic in my corner.
When I began writing it was like riding a bike in first gear. My legs were pumping like mad and even though I wasn’t moving forward very fast at all, I was happy, nonetheless, excitedly holding myself upright. As I became more experienced I was able to change into second and then third gears and was racing, I mean really flying, towards what I thought was the finish line. Well, it was the finish line, and to reach it all I had to do was traverse a bottomless, fog-shrouded canyon. “Keep your eyes on the horizon and you’ll get there,” was my only encouragement. Not very helpful in the fog where I can’t see a damned thing.
I do know when I’m headed down, though. It’s easy, especially when the wheel goes off the edge of the rock and I skin my knees to the bone. “Don’t give up!” comes that same far-off voice, but I fear by the time I reach the goal I’ll be as good as dead, worn out and extremely bitter because I already know there’s a bridge here, somewhere, or at least a trail. As I haul my bruised and battered ass up and down the razor-sharp crags, I just hope I’ll be able to hold onto the promise I made myself of helping others by at least showing the way NOT to take.
I know – it’s a test of character. That’s the excuse offered, at least. Just like the drill sergeant who yells at the recruit to keep going regardless…but then I think wait a minute – why is the drill sergeant doing that? Because someday that kind of encouragement may save that soldier’s life. If becoming an author had those kinds of stakes I would more easily understand. If every book I read were “the best book ever” I’d also understand. Such is not the case.
Some will scoff and say “but there is no finish line.” I beg to differ. A finish line does not necessarily equate with stopping and doing no more. Instead, it represents the end of a single round of an ongoing competition.
Exhausted, but onwards ho…
