Celebrating Independent Authors
Social Networking is weird. No doubt. I hate to spam and promote. I do it because I like to eat. But I hate it. When I first started putting music on the internet (years ago), I wrote a sonnet for my 100th ‘fan’. I have done this with songs and stories many times on FB and beyond; it is a good way to make a real connection. I am constantly searching for ways to humanize the internet. This is a fun one.
When I was 12 or 13, things started getting weird. I had to do everything an even number of times. I started worrying about germs a lot. I worried about what other people were thinking about me. I worried, period. I began to over-analyze EVERYTHING. Including my tendency toward over-analysis. I did not want to touch anyone or be touched. I did not know what was going on. I was ashamed. It wasn’t until years later, reading Howard Stern’s book ‘Private Parts’, that I realized that I was not the only one who did these things and felt this way. That there was even a name for it. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Since then, things have gotten better. I don’t worry about even numbers really. Germs are still an issue. I have come to terms with the fact that I think very differently than most people. Self-medication worked from about age 17-22, but it almost killed me. I even tried medication from the doctor. That did kill me. It took away the OCD, but it also changed my personality. I didn’t realize this at the time. In hindsight, while I might have been ‘happier’, I like being me…germphobia and all. Continue reading “Writing and OCD. Writing and OCD.”
My daughter loves to read books together. And she loves pretending to read. And she likes to write. Keep in mind she’s three, so we’re not talking Great American Novel yet. She makes a mean ‘F’. It warms the cold, bitter cockles of my heart. She likes that there are pictures of me in the back of some books, and she likes the songs I write her.
The reason I am thinking about my daughter is because I realized the other day that at some point in the future she will want to read what I have written. It is going to be a very eye-opening day. To say the least.
Recently, I got very down. This happens. I get depressed sometimes when we run out of milk. This time, however, I got depressed because writing began to seem futile.
Let me clarify…writing is like breathing…sharing it seemed futile. But something happened. Something that needs to happen for all of us. A lot of people bitch-slapped me verbally…some threatened actual physical harm.
I got to thinking about all that is involved in being an Indie writer. I won’t lie. Part of me yearns for the days when I had a regular paycheck and good insurance and my friend Pat liked my stories a lot. I hate promoting. But promotion has an interesting fallout effect. It works – we hope, but more importantly, it builds community.