The Voice In
My Head
It only happens to crazy people, right? So I
wasn’t that surprised; I’d been heading for a breakdown anyway.
‘Look at you,’ said the voice in my head. ‘Your
life is in terminal decline and you don’t even know it.’
‘It is?’ I asked unsteadily. ‘I'm hearing you
because I'm sick?’
‘Not yet, but you soon will be.’
‘So in that case…er…who are you?’
‘I’m your inner voice. You need to listen to
me, yeah? Everyone tells you that.’
‘Go on, then, inner voice,’ I sighed. ‘Say your
piece. I'm listening.’
‘It’s your writing,’ said my inner voice. ‘You're
giving it all you've got, but it’s killing you. It happens in the best of
relationships.’
‘Nonsense, it isn’t killing me!’ I anxiously
examined myself in a nearby window. The dull, sunken eyes, the sallow
complexion, the hollow cheeks. And I shivered. ‘I...I'm fine, really.’
‘Unfortunately you’re not,’ said the voice in
the hushed tones of a funeral parlor
receptionist. I felt a nerve twitch underneath my right eye. ‘At the best of
times your writing life consumes you,’ the voice went on in sepulchral tones.
‘Family life takes a hit. Social life? Forget it. And all the while you have to
hold down a dreary full-time job that wrings you out like a wet rag.’
This was too much. I couldn’t let it pass.
‘Okay, some of that is true. But long ago I
made a choice; to live my dream. Struggle through the lows. Aim for success by doing
what I enjoyed most, and……’
‘Yeah, yeah yeah....and how’s your eyesight
been lately?’ came the rude interruption.
‘Okay, I guess.’ Where was this going?
‘It won’t be for very long. And all down your
spine those little disks are grinding themselves to dust. You see, pal, it’s
the long hours you spend sitting at your brightly-lit computer. And speaking
about writing, hey, have you actually been getting any done lately?’
Now this was something that had really been worrying
me.
‘Oh, it’s probably writer’s block. It’ll pass,’
I sang nervously.
‘It’s not writer’s block,’ said the voice.
‘Whatever writing time you had, you're now spending trying to take your books
to market. You spend countless hours trying to locate this market, and when you
do find it you have to spend even more time in attracting its attention. All of
this you have to do because you’re a self-publisher!
The voice made the last two words sound like it
was something dirty that I did to myself. I licked my dry lips guiltily. Yes, I
was an ebook self-publisher. My secret was out. There was little point in
further subterfuge.
‘Oh….don’t I just know that!’ I whispered
hoarsely.
Premature blindness. A powdering spine. Family
life gone down the plughole. No friends. A tired brain, drained of all creative
energy. ‘Is it curtains for me, then?’ I wanted to know. ‘Failed. Disappointed.
Moving horizontally on a conveyor belt through a pair of fireproof curtains in
some downtown crematorium?’
‘No. Now get this---all is not lost. You
listening?’ my inner voice demanded.
I perked up at its sudden snappy tone.
‘You betcha, I’m listening.’
‘You have friends,’ it said. ‘All
self-publishers do. Big and mighty friends. They can change lives. Mend broken
dreams.’
Huge waves of emotion washed over me like it
was high-tide on Bondai Beach.
'I know,' I whispered. 'It's these "big few"
online publishing houses which allow self-publishers to showcase their work to
the world. Our liberators,' I choked. 'Our salvation...our future.'
'You got it in one,' the voice confirmed with
amazing gentleness. 'The "big few" are the future.'
'But....but how can I make them listen?'
‘The answer is staring at you in the face,
buddy,’ said my inner voice with a hint of impatience. 'Let's say you get 70%
royalties. And on those ebooks priced below $2.99 you get 35%. So you already
have a competitive advantage---you can price your books lower than a traditional
publishing house while still making higher royalties than it would ever have
given you.’
‘Yes, I know that…..’
‘In fact the terms of these "big few"
online publishing houses are so good that you could afford to invest some of
your royalties in saving your health while also increasing your sales without
losing your competitive-price edge.’
‘I think you’re losing me, pal….I mean, inner
voice.’
‘Bear with me. First, it is vital that you
produce good stuff. And I mean good! Not sloppily edited. Not badly
formatted. Not badly written.’
‘I think I can manage that,’ I whispered.
‘I know you can. You already do so most
admirably. I was referring to all those
other self-publishers out there who fancy themselves as writers nowadays.'
‘Oh, gee! Thanks, I guess. But what has all
this to do with royalties?'
‘If all you self-publishers were to give up 5%
to 10% of those generous royalties, why, this would give the "big
few" the finance needed to hire super-duper marketing teams. And they would do all the hard grind needed
to put you convincingly in front of your target market. Meanwhile you could be
getting on with your writing….admiring your wife’s new hairdo… kicking a ball
with the kids…saving your eyes and backbone….’
‘’Yes, but 5% to 10%…isn’t that a lot?’
‘It’s peanuts, especially when you add on all
those extra sales you’d be making thanks to a bunch of professionals marketing
you. And they could do more, of course. For example, so many self-publishers
can’t write. Team "big few"
could look at their work and gently point them towards writing school. The
others would only need professional copy editors and book cover designers as
necessary. And lo! Suddenly self publishers would start achieving a whole new
credibility. You getting all this?’
‘It sounds so simple,’ I breathed in awe. ‘Increased
sales. Good health. Happy families. Overflowing cornucopias of creativity
pouring forth from well-rested brains. Sound advice. Good product. Changed
perceptions. For once real talent would be rewarded fairly and squarely. This
nurturing of talented self-publishers would give them the break for which they
have long hungered.....' I was getting rather excited by now. Maybe too excited.
‘Hey, for that kind of Technicolor horizon I’d be happy to go more than 5% to
10%. Why, I’d be…..’
‘Calm down,’ chided my inner voice. ‘Watch what
you say. You’re getting carried away!’
‘I don’t care,’ I hollered gaily. ‘I want the
"big few" to hear. I want them to hear so much!’
‘Come to think of it, you might be slightly
nuts after all. Anyway, I’m done.’
And with that my inner voice fell silent,
leaving me trembling with an exhilaration I hadn’t felt since my first kiss.
Hi. I'm John.
That's it for the issues that have been bugging me. From now on I'm going to take you on a journey about the wacky things that have happened in my life. Please come back in a week's time and I shall do my best to entertain you while giving you pause for thought! (My next blog, entitled Tragedy At The Duck-pond, goes up here on 20 July. Hope it doesn't make you cry!) Oh yeah, almost forgot (as if!). If you have the time, please do me the kindness of taking a look at my ebooks and paperbacks on good old Amazon, as below. Thanks.
That's it for the issues that have been bugging me. From now on I'm going to take you on a journey about the wacky things that have happened in my life. Please come back in a week's time and I shall do my best to entertain you while giving you pause for thought! (My next blog, entitled Tragedy At The Duck-pond, goes up here on 20 July. Hope it doesn't make you cry!) Oh yeah, almost forgot (as if!). If you have the time, please do me the kindness of taking a look at my ebooks and paperbacks on good old Amazon, as below. Thanks.
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