Always Hungry

 It might just be the single greatest question I am yet to find an answer to in life. As much as I write, as often as I write and as often as I can publish books myself. Will that hunger to have my work recognised ever be satiated?

(Brief aside. I am publishing via Amazon. Whether that holds more weight in my own personal thoughts on achievement or not, I have yet to cross that bridge in my mind.)

This feels against every notion that I hold as my personal philosophy. I always tell myself that "I cant control what happens to me or what people believe about me, so why let that affect how I react to these things". But in reality I am my greatest enemy. I write and get satisfied or furious as myself for the outcome. With books like Organ, I loved the effort. The struggle was real to get my story finished and my first novel published. Seeing it in printed form and physically holding my work in my hand was a massive moment for me. 

And yet. 

I cant douse this fire that I am chasing something more. Something tangible. Something that comes with recognition and a gratification that is given by strangers. Which is an admittedly hideous thing to admit. I despise the world that art creation has become, notice I said art creation and not content creation. I believe that selling yourself is now more important than selling your work of art. Having this gnawing biting beast on my back is infuriating. Its hollowing. 

Its a bitter fight to hold onto our principles and our very souls, if you believe in some higher sense of self that is held as our all encompassing form. I want to write and be known for my writing. Hell, on some gross level I want to be adored for my writing. Organ was a great book, vanity aside, I truly think it was a special piece of horror written at a time perfect for me to close it out. But it wouldn't have done anywhere near as well if I hadn't been whoring myself out on social media at the time. 

I was posting about it and screaming into every group, space, timeline, algorithm, blog, subreddit that I could find. I burned hours of my life pitching my work to the endless stream of uninterested followers, bots and strangers on; Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, BlueSky, Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, Threads, Pinterest, Good Reads, LinkedIn, Facebook ads, Amazon ads, WhatsApp groups and everything else that seemed important at the time. 

What for?

Looking back now with that same hunger in my belly as I felt back then, what did I accomplish by selling myself like that. Becoming a coin in the slot machine of the algorithm and endless wave of self promotion that is the social media train station. Its a circular problem. I write, I publish, I want the book to sell, I pray that nefarious tools (Amazon and Social Media) help me do that, Its does "fine", I sink into the feeling of "next time it will do better" and I rinse and repeat. 

Perhaps that hunger needs a different food source. Perhaps my desires to be the writer I want to be needs to be feasting on a different prey. What can be considered a successful writer in this day and age, authors that are established after years in the guiding hands of actual publishing houses are cornering the market in their powerhouse methods. Everything else is a free for all with the world of self publishing hoovering up those writers like myself that are impatient, unambitious or arrogant enough to believe we can go it alone via KDP or Ingram Spark.

I think its time I decide on what matters more. Writing for the love of my minds story telling ability or being a successful writer in the eyes of the elements that are destroying our communities in Facebook, Amazon and social media as a whole.

I know what I want to be. Its about finding the courage to scrub it out and start again.

I guess this rambling confession, this therapy session I have invited the internet into has been running long enough. I will catch up with you all some time soon.

Avoid the hate and be great you fumbling creatures I adore.