Giving Up?

 

I like writing. I'm good at it (and getting better all the time), and it's something of a natural compulsion. If I'm sitting at my computer, I'm usually writing. 

I like discovering where a story leads; I enjoy meeting new, quirky characters. I like the interaction between the people I invent. (Did I actually invent them, or did I simply uncover them?)

But the thing is, as much as I love to write I feel like nobody's eyes are on my work. I've published seven novels and novellas and my all-time sales figure is 44 copies sold. Forty-four. And of those forty-four I garnered one review. Did the other forty-three people buy a book, start reading it, then throw it across the room? Who knows? I'm beginning to wonder if the one person who was kind enough to leave a review is another indie author who took pity on me. Her review was admittedly better written than anything I ever wrote.

And it's not just my works of fiction that receive zero feedback. I maintain another blog in addition to this one, and I publish an online music magazine. NO ONE has offered a comment, a compliment; heck, not even a negative critique. It's clear that nobody has ever even laid eyes on my work. I used to tell myself that I'm writing for myself. "A blog is kind of like a diary," I told my husband. While that's sort of true, my writings are out there in the universe, and it's not as if someone needs a little gold key to unlock them.  

I can buy into the notion that blogs are passe, but a music magazine? Who doesn't like music?  

Maybe I'm just in a feel-sorry-for-myself mood right now. Maybe tomorrow I'll start writing a new story. Or maybe I won't. I'm at a crossroads, wondering if perhaps, as much as I love writing, my time could be better spent.