Wednesday, February 17, 2010
I was at work the other night. We were laughing about my blog which no reads except me. It is kinda funny, except it got me thinking. I'm so stubborn, too stubborn I guess at times. I have written more than nine books. One that totally needs to go back to page one, but the others-two need revising- one's that published- one I published (which by the way did better than the one which was published by an ebook publisher)- then I have four books which I believe are good, better than good. The problem the way I see it is I don't go with the norm. There's a formula writer's are suppose to follow which I don't. I have always wanted to write, but didn't start until ten years ago. I didn't have the money or the time (working and raising three children) to go back to school. I would love to go to conventions and workshops, but I have two children in college and one in high school. I have spent money on critics, but to what end? I don't have any free money to spend on something I don't know will ever pay off. I have taught myself with every rejection and revision. I have listen and taken every ounce of critisim without resentment. There comes a time though when one asks oneself why. Why? To what purpose?