Supporters

When did I learn to be small? I remember losing sleep when a lover told me I had not earned the right to a Facebook fan page. Never mind that people make them for pieces of photogenic toast.

I have reached out for help and not merely been declined but treated as irritating for asking. I have spent time and energy proofing full novels for people who did not, in turned out after, want to publish. They wanted only to have their egos stroked about what amazing of writers they were. When I asked them for something small (read a short story, talk through a plot point with me), they stonewalled me. They didn't have time. It wasn't their genre. They don't like reading unpublished work (and haven't found the chance in the last decade to read anything I had published).

I have watched these people demand onerous labor and receive dozens of enthusiastic offers in an hour, ample encouragement from grade school playmates to exes to racist aunts. Are they just more personable?

I have asked people to read though a story and heard, "Oh, you write?" as though I am subtle about my purpose in life. Beyond seeming dismissive, it reads as insulting as it more than suggests they haven't the foggiest clue who I am.

When there is no reciprocity, especially when I have seen them so well supported otherwise, I feel disrespected. Was I nothing more than a doormat to them? Were they selfish and I was gullible?

#1 Fan

I have watched people pimp their friend's cousin's roommate's self-published Tolkien rip-off (whose reviews on Amazon were close to identical and posted in the same week, almost as if they had cheated the system by paying for them). They reviewed this book as though it were the Second Coming, but they won't go so far as to acknowledge my books exist.

I recently went to dinner with Sarah T. (Chris was invited, but unavailable.) She was still jet-lagged from having visited relatives in Arizona. "My aunt asked me if I had read any of your books," she said. "I told her I haven't."

I didn't ask how I came up in conversation with distant relatives, though I should have. I could use the flattery.

At this point in my career, I would give a friend one of my books if they suggested they would read, enjoy, and ideally review them somewhere. I have been given no sign they would. I don't want my books gathering dust on a shelf, accepted out of misplaced courtesy. I have spent my money mailing my books to distant friends, who thereafter said nothing about them beyond "Oh, yeah, I think I got it."

Sarah says she has a stack of ARCs from Goodreads she has not found the time to read. I leave a review for books I have won and found one of my favorite books of 2017 through there. I have never received a review from someone I sent a book, so why bother with that? A man who won a copy of Pagan Standard Times had a profile that suggested not only would he never read it, but he might throw it in the garbage as blasphemy. He applied to win every book that was listed without regard for what they were, probably to resell on eBay. Still I sent it, knowing I was wasting a copy of one of my books and my money to send it.

Compared against how much I have made from my writing, I operate near a deficit. That won't be improved mailing people something they don't give a damn about.

People like winning things and receiving mail, Sarah stated. I couldn't deny how right she was on this.

I have an associate who likely deserves her every success. I have yet to read her book, but I own it and it is on the shelves in major bookstores while mine is only by request. She had her first, well-attended signing that people posted all over social media. Her former college asked her back to give two talks and readings. Someone baked her a cake decorated to resemble her book. I am, in short, envious not merely of her immediate seeming success (though of course I am) but the outpouring of support she receives from her community. I've been published almost ten years and can count the number of my close friends and family who have read my books on my fingers and toes -- and I am not sure about my toes.

Long way up or down

I don't know what more I can do, short of reading it to people while executing the Ludovico Technique. I am confident I am a skilled writer by this point, but what does it say that the people closest to me are indifferent?

I am an avid cheerleader for the artists in my life. I know how crucial it is to feel acknowledged and supported. There are few things more seductive about media than someone you like and respect explaining why they think you will enjoy it.

I will keep writing because I will never get what I want by coveting alone. I need to work, even if it is only for myself and those Pinterest pages that will thereafter quote me, otherwise unread. What a legacy to be quoted and unknown. I await the moment someone gets my words tattooed to their thigh, the written context is very different than their thinspiration.

No one is going to choose to care about my work. The only one I can change is myself, so I will work as though I will be read, some day. I will work as though I can finally produce something the people I care about will want to read.

Beginning our hike at Ferncliff Forest, I mention my nearly completed book, Holidays with Bigfoot, to Ken, as he is a captive audience to my authorial neuroses.

In response, he tries to be sensitive about the covers of my Night's Dream series.

"Thomm knows they aren't good," Amber tells him, letting him off the hook for tact.

Damn right

Amber gives him the lowdown: my publisher started the company so he could have books for which he could make covers. The publishing was secondary. "He uses a program called Poser. Everyone ends up dead-eyed."

Ken then offers that he would make me a cover for the new book for free.

I deflect.

Amber whispers, "See, people support you. You just have to ask them."

She knows the exact incantation for my guilt.

Once I've gotten everyone lost in the woods, resulting in injuries, we return to our homes. After perseverating on the idea, I message Ken assuring him that he does not have to do anything for me and I appreciate the offer as an act of friendship.

He asks for the cover image I was going to use.

I want people to want to help me, but I don't want to ask. I want it all organic. I find it arrogant to try to make people care about my work, however much I crave the affirmation that they do. I know I am in the wrong here.

Soon in Xenology: Social Justice Wiccans. Ken.

last watched: American Gods
reading: Aliens: The World's Leading Scientists on the Search for Extraterrestrial Life
listening: Damien Rice