~Robert Frost We talk of New Year resolutions this time of year, something we use for fresh starts, new outlooks, and perhaps ways to organize our lives, reflect on what is working and what isn’t. No life is perfect, and sometimes it can feel as if it’s spinning out of control. The start of a new year gives us hope. Hope to right the rails, hope to plod through the storm, hope that we will take our lives back. I’m fortunate that I get a long vacation this time of year after the madness peaks and explodes. I am never a rash person. And I never make decisions under duress. Ever. When things settle, so do I, and I think. And this year will be a particularly pensive one, especially when it comes to writing. This year I will rethink my journey. I’ve traveled near and far all at the same time. I’ve written my dark fantasies far removed from my world and I’ve written my autobiographical truths into them. I’ve written sweet romance in distant tales and turbulent ones that mirrored my own past. I’ve taken leaps I never thought I would into new writing territory, some long, some short, and I’ve stayed in the same place with dear friends and goals, honing my skills to be better. And I’ve bled my soul into verse, reaching new depths, publishing a collection, and continually doing so every day, challenging myself to grow, steady on the course. I write because I have to. Make no mistake there. And I’ve said it a million times. But what got me publishing? That. That is what I need to ponder. And I need to ponder it deeply. With Amazon as seemingly the only real avenue these days (yes there are others, less lucrative ways), I must ask myself: Do I want to continue to support a company that puts everyone else out of business? That has arbitrary whims that can destroy years of work in one fell swoop of a sword? That hasn’t just slashed the little man but has slashed large corporations, toy stores and craft stores, leaving only one option: them. We live in a world of greed and instant gratification. Of a I-want-it-now-or-at-least-no-later-than-tomorrow world, and I want it at the cheapest price. And we indies rarely can make it, not truly, not the way we hoped, not the way we need to make it a dream realized. Is it worth it anymore? As many of you know, a tale I’ve cultivated for a couple years now come to fruition, and it was arbitrarily and swiftly torn down. There was a time when I shared my writing for free, where it was read copiously, where I didn’t worry about my “rank” or if it sold, where I actually placed my head on my pillow at night and slept, and where the only reason I wrote was to exorcise my demons, to cut open wounds to bleed to heal. The wounds now almost never stop bleeding. The Band-Aids I’ve used no longer work. So I end this year with some questions to answer, ones only I can do. It’s true. We can only travel one path at a time; we are but one traveler. If I choose to take the one less traveled this time, I, like Frost, doubt I should I ever come back to the other. But as I write this, I ponder that, perhaps, there are more than only two roads, that I just need to see them in the yellow wood. And maybe, just maybe, knowing that, will make all the difference.
2 Comments
Sebastian Nox
12/13/2018 14:23:04
A thoughtful, engaging piece. As always. I admire your keen insight into the human condition as your own. Few people possess the ability for true introspection. A rare gift.
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DeeSee
12/14/2018 08:03:27
RB I understand your frustration and angst over recent events, But I urge you to look beyond this. You are an amazing writer, you are an amazing person and so many of us look to you for inspirations and enjoyment of life robust in your energy.
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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