It hurts to be a failure…

You know… It really hurts.

I’m 45 and self-evaluating my life. I never had a break in life; was born in a totally dysfunctional family where Charles Manson would have been the black sheep. That certainly sucks… I always dreamt of writing and fancied myself a very competent storyteller… and since some of my books have earned 4 and 5-star reviews, I realize now that it wasn’t self-delusion… but…
I lurk around a few writer’s groups in the Internet and what I keep witnessing is good enough to shatter my self-confidence about my writing skills. A few examples will follow:

Case A) A writer I know has a very trashy Paranormal Romance out; she has one of her characters trying to justify a very selfish decision not one, not two… but three times in the space of a couple paragraphs. This made this section of the text wishy-washy. The novel was too predictable; I was making predictions on how it’d end by page 15… and I wasn’t very off when I finished it. Problem is, the other day she complained that she is selling only 20-30 copies each month. I wish I had her problems: that’s my yearly sales average on all my books…

Case B) Another writer has a new science fiction novel out ; the sci-fi is weak (Einsteinian Laws be damned! Full speed ahead!), the tale is absolutely trite and I think you can find better motivations for characters inside a Kracker-Jax box… Problem is… this accursed, poorly written thing has earned nearly 40 excellent reviews in less than a month… it took me a year and a half to to get seven good reviews on my best work.. which it’s no wonder… it is hardly selling, anyway.

Case C) Another writer has a couple of above-average books and they’re selling like mad bastards. He has offered to take a look at some of my work, but so far… Zilch! Problem is that he’s playing that silent game of “I-expect-you-to-issue-a-free-Smashwords-coupon” game… Uh-huh… I’m not playing it… this cheapskate can afford to cough up the 4 bucks required to buy a copy. Give it a miss…

Case D) This young girl who is barely out of her teens made a outrageous comment about not understanding one of my metaphysical vampire tales. I counted till I reached the google plus number, trying to explain it… but I decided against it. It’s obvious this young lady has absolutely no clue who was Algernon Blackwood. I’m half tempted to direct her to his work, so she can make sense out from my tale, but… give it a miss…

I could go on and on, but it’s useless…

So back to my reality check… I’m 45, trapped forever in the deepest recesses of a tropical jungle, never had a girlfriend (you know, women want some basic luxuries in life as TV and hot running water, so this thing about living in the jungle and no woman in my life are, somehow, connected) , will never marry and have kids… and I write books that don’t sell at all…

Somehow, this last part hurts the most. Seems that as a writer I am… forgetable…

It hurts to have failed at the only thing in life I was good for. It certainly hurts to be a failure…

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