Page Publishing finally has my novel in page design. I am hoping to actually seeing a physical book in print, though I am no longer in any way confident that such a thing will actually happen. The more time that passes, the more I find out about Page being a scammer-type publisher. The mistakes they made in my work in editing were apparently on purpose. Now that I have threatened to sue them, I am hoping they will no longer try to sabotage my book to the point they can extort money out of me to fix it. I think if I had more control over the publishing process, the book might actually sell. So my resolve is to hereafter do only the cheapest possible self-publishing.
My art, my writing, and my life is basically organic, growing and changing in dynamic and unpredictable ways. That is the biggest drag on living in this mechanized, grinding-wheels-for-profit world. I don’t fit into their neat and perfectly stackable boxes of officially sanctioned society. They have to chop the leaves and branches off my tree of creativity to make me fit. I am thoroughly tired of saw blades and wood-choppers of the metaphorical kind.
My swimming pool is now a grassless space for reading in the sunshine. I hope to grow flowers there. There need to be more flowers in this life.
My work is more real to me now than reality is. I intend to spend as much of my remaining time on Earth creating things, making the world of my mind tangible and viewable to others.
I finished a novel on my Tuesday blog posts. I am debating what to plug in there next. I discovered that the scammers at Publish America are being sued in a second class-action suit by authors. I might be able to score some money, even though I never paid them for anything. They have had the rights to my novel Aeroquest bound up in their publishing agreement since 2007. But my contract is long over. I can use that novel on Tuesdays with ample rewriting.
I have made peace with the idea of never having money enough again. Life continues to cost more than I make. I tried to sign up as an Uber driver for extra cash when I am well enough to drive. Unfortunately I am only rarely well enough. And even more unfortunately, my android phone refuses to download either the Uber or the Lyft driver apps. So I am all signed up, but unable to receive even one driving assignment. I just read a literary biography of Poe, though, and even though he was a better writer than I am, he lived in abject poverty for the majority of his adult life. Who am I to do better than he? For that matter, who is James Patterson? I don’t claim to better than him, but he is definitely not better than me. And that dude is a writing millionaire.
That, then, is my “So on and so on…” for today. Thanks for letting me complain. If you read this far through my ramble-brambles, you are a noble and worthy reader. I appreciate you. And I promise you, it gets better from here on.