Successful Writer, My Ass!

A couple weeks after leaving my family, I’ve decided to embark on weekly visits to a local social club in town to hopefully meet friends, and influence people to consider purchasing my book.  The fore-mentioned part of this objective was a success last Saturday night.  But the latter seems to be yet an unrealized dream (rolling my eyes!).

I met a fellow Marine who seemed to know quite a few people at a couple of different social places in the same shopping center.  And he introduced me to them.  At one point, he introduced me as a “successful writer”.  But me — being the humble soul I am — corrected him, stating:  “I’m not successful yet.”

But being ever the good optimist, he argued:  “Your book is on Amazon, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Then you are a success.”

Successful writer, my ass, I thought to myself.  Until I can sustain myself properly and completely off my writing royalties, I am reluctant to call myself successful.  It has been nearly a month, since I have sold my novel at all.  I sold one e-book copy each on Amazon and Barnes & Noble one month ago for a total royalty of $6.99.  The idea of someone living off of a mere six dollars and ninety-nine cents in this fucked economy is laughable!  But this is what it means to be a struggling writer.  And I will proudly do it in an effort to pay my dues as a hopeful prelude to something much bigger and better in the just as hopeful near future.

However, it is good just to have a friend to boost my own fragile ego.  But how good is this new friend of mine?  After having just met him, he seems like a good enough fellow.  He has shared his network of fun-loving carousers with me and opened up the potential for me to make new friends as a bachelor once again.  He’s offered to buy me drinks that — had I not been liquored up enough — I would have gladly accepted!  And he doesn’t really appear to be one who is too judgmental; after all, he took the time to defend my lack of success or at least put it into a more positive perspective.

As you read this, you probably wonder to yourself, what the hell does it matter?  At least you have made a new friend.  And if this is what you are thinking, you are probably right!

I guess that the last thing I want to do is go around feeling that I’ve reached my plateau.  Because I refuse to believe that this mole-hill on which I’m currently trudging around is anything bigger than what it truly is.  I want to conquer the Everest of successes in writing.  I want to climb the same mountain that other, more successful writers have climbed…writers like Twain, Poe, Hemingway, Fleming, and Clancy!

And it is hard for me to masquerade as something that I am not, even if — by the definition of others — I am.  Then again, maybe that is what I am doing wrong.  Maybe by telling others that I am not yet successful, this turns them away from even desiring to purchase my book.  After all, isn’t there some saying that for others to believe in you, you first have to believe in yourself?

But how easy is it to believe in yourself when what little monthly income you receive will not even cover a gallon of milk?  But I suppose it is all in how you perceive it.

In summary, I guess I would much rather be successful by my own definition.  Success by my definition would have me at least being able to afford a gallon of milk a month after this supposed price increase due to economic doom and gloom.  Hell, by my own definition of success, I may even be able to buy my own damned cow (grinning).

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