Musings of a Starving Author

When I started writing it was strictly short stories. I’ve never been one for patience, so getting to the end of the story as soon as possible was a plus, if not a necessity. I was certain a novel was out of reach for someone of my temperament. Then little by little the slightest clue of what possibly may be considered the smallest hint of a notion began to appear deep within the recesses of the small toe on my left foot. After awhile…and I mean awhile, I began to actually believe that I might consider penning a novel. In order to make a short story long, I wrote that novel, found a publisher and that’s when it hit me…I can write a novel, but why stop there. So I listened to myself and wrote a second, followed by a third and then a fourth. I now have number five and six in the works, hopefully, to be published in the near future. I thoroughly enjoy writing. It gives me an outlet to express myself and also a place just to have fun.

If you’re an author you know how to play the game. Get a book published, then ask everyone you know and their brother to leave a review, not to mention your entire family, including great aunt Gertrude who you haven’t seen for thirty years if she’s still alive. Then after years of marketing, you begin to receive unsolicited reviews. There’s nothing better than receiving five-star reviews from total strangers. It reinforces that you made the right career choice after all. What could be better? You walk into your bedroom, open your top dresser drawer and remove a very small document. Then it hits you like a ton of bricks as you stare at your last royalty check, realizing if you wrap the rectangular piece of paper around a rock at least you’d have a paper weight. You close your dresser drawer, leave your room, extinguishing the light as you do so, thinking how glad you are that being an author is not your sole source of income. Good night, Stephen King, wherever you are!    

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