How not to make a difference.
As I watch the sun rise on yet another day, I’m filled with a very unpleasant feeling of melancholy. What’s the point? I ask myself. What difference does my being a writer make? The answer is, I suspect, very little, or even none at all.
Now while I’m wallowing in self-pity, at the same time I do realise I’m not the only author struggling to make my voice heard and to try and interest the reading public in my work. I knew, when I embarked on my writing journey, that it wouldn’t be easy. And I accept that. My books are a microscopic dot on the horizon, when compared to other, more worthy tomes and that’s fine.
However, that said, I read a Goodreads review yesterday on a certain “mommy porn” book that’s been hugely successful, even to the point that a film is on the horizon. The review was far from favourable, which leads me to question why this book’s so damn successful. Now I’ve nothing against the erotica genre, each to their own taste, but what really galls me is that such a badly written piece of work should enjoy such monumental success. Good luck to the author, and all that, but I’ve said time and again, why, when most writers put such effort into their work, do the reading public seem content to settle for second best, just for the sake of a bit of titillation? Yes, sex sells, but that’s no excuse for shoddy writing.
My only comfort from this scenario is, that shortly after said work was released, I saw several copies in various charity shops I patronise, on sale for 99 pence. A very small measure of comfort, I grant you, but better than nothing at all.
http://goo.gl/U3vnYy Gloaming Kindle UK
http://goo.gl/ku1ZlG Gloaming Kindle US