There is a major flaw in the idea of writing as a career: Writers are good at writing, not sales. If they were good at sales, they wouldn't be writers, they would be assholes.
At least if I was an erotic massage therapist, I'd know my work was appreciated. I probably should have done that as a sideline instead. I need to be appreciated. Writers are terribly insecure. We pretty much need people to follow us around the house congratulating us for getting dressed and breathing in and out consistently. It is a pain in the ass for my husband, so I have trained the dog to pursue me gushingly everywhere I go. (Actually, this required no training.)
This is just another example of my experience of having missed out on the Instruction Manual for How to Survive Life. I now fear that getting it right will have something to do with understanding hash-tags, which I believe are either special gift labels used for breakfast potatoes or something to do with cannabis resin.
I am like the virgin at the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
|Photo by Alex Erde|