It's a Matter of Taste and Personal Dignity

First disclaimer:  if you haven't noticed yet, I am a bitter old crone.

I don't blog much anymore. But I have gone through dry spells before. Lately, something just keeps me from that keyboard. And as for my fiction, I have notebooks of three or four works in progress. Just can't get it onto the machine. Think I know why. Think I am warming up. I am just not caught up in the excitement of the process anymore. I show spikes in readership that have no relationship to my activity. I get royalties for sales that don't show up in any analytics. How am I supposed to know what works? There is no explanation for having 183 blog hits one day and 52 the next when I haven't even posted of late. I know. Something showed up in someone's comments, or on some google entry. But I am tired of floundering around like a beached fish searching for the right water hole.

I read a lot about trad pub versus e pub. These are two schools of mind that have nothing in common. One is playing football, the other is ice skating, but they think they are doing the same thing cuz they both are "sportsing".

I always wanted to put my two cents in, but lately 2 out of 3 comments I make, I erase instead of submitting. How my public must be suffering!

Today, on an agent's blog, something struck me. She is really nice and helpful and seems kind. (Some are such sharks.) The commentors were having a healthy back and forth about making changes in your work to please some agent or editor or publisher. Can't do it. If you don't like my style, oh, well.  I am very fond of it. So I wrote this comment and erased it without submitting. I could only think of a not too decorous kind of an analogy. Here, my page, my editing, I can let it roll.

A pimp tells his stable they need to wear shorter skirts. Business is slow. The newest member of the family takes this to heart and complies. Unbeknownst to her, the guy in the little black BMW is cruising, looking for his favorite fetish  -  a cute little chick in a kilt and argyles.

 No point in trying to please "the customer". Maybe there is a general trend or style that appeals to more, but if that's not your style, you have to wait for the customer who likes your style. So go out there and get 'em with your argyle sox and plaid skirt. At least you will find someone who appreciates you.

Photo attribution:  Acid Cow.com

The Totally Mental Aspects of Mental Disorders

I had a pretty nice day yesterday.  Spent some time with Francesca and Delaney.  Brought the Taylor family a great dinner and they even shared a little with me.  Bought three boxes of Good and Plenty.  The price has dropped from a dollar to ninety-eight cents, so I snapped those mothers up.  Ben had an amazing ballgame, hit two doubles, his team winning by two after  falling behind twice.  Then, as I prepared to retire for the night, putting all the daily papers into the recycling, (those suckers pile up so fast) deciding on my sleepy time cocktail of pills for the night, I notice a little white circle glowing against the golden fibers of my deceptively clean-looking dining room area rug.  Picked it up to discover it was a Welbutrin!  Guess that one didn't make it into the mouth that morning. 

I have yet to find a doctor, and I have asked at least six, that can explain the time-release effects, or even the specific meaning of the words to me.  It has always turned out to be a discussion in semantics.  I felt pretty good today, got all that EPA and DMV stuff cleared up with out a hitch and bought some peanut butter cookies, but I had to wonder what missing that pill yesterday meant.  I know when I was taking that crumby, crumbling, smelly, yellow generic, I was in a prolonged semi manic state that in actual fact provided many pleasant side effects, a huge weight loss, a million brilliant words carefully stored on memory sticks, a new attitude about partnership and "marriage", a new sense of me.  So I am almost tempted to try skipping a few more of those pearly white puppies and see what happens.  But I know when it happens I am unable to judge what is happening, whether or not I am enjoying it.  So, bummer.  I skipped a pill.  No big deal.  The whole bipolar thing?  No big deal.  I  guess. . .