Control: At A Loss

Losing sucks.

I wrote a novel and it didn’t sell. Impressions of Suburbia features a slasher horror figure murdering teenagers in suburban America. The novel puts today’s America on trial, showing the flaws and pains that our country faces as the century continues.

No one cared. I worked for nine months on a novel which no one read. I worked so hard at the book and cared about it. I wanted to do something revolutionary and interesting and failed to do so.

Advertising featured a significant role in my plan for the novel. I wanted to advertise to horror fans and fans of literature. Teenagers needed to give my novel a chance, and I would reach them with an ad campaign on the internet that paid per click. This didn’t work at all. No one clicked.

Nothing worked at all. No one noticed that I wrote a novel. Nine months seemed wasted, thrown away in a vain desire to pursue art. I didn’t even try to make it high art or anything — it was a slasher novel. I wanted something big and fun and bold and unforgettable. People who borrowed the book read eleven pages, according to the amazon website.

I need to move on, to change, to grow as an artist. I want to write, to show the world all the wonderful dreams that fly through my mind.

I know that I write about my life a lot, but this failure means something to me. I wanted this book to resonate with audiences. I wanted to write a hit.

Why is it so hard to tell the world about a novel that you wrote? I have written more than half a dozen books but havent built an audience. I took a walk to clear my head. The forest in libertyville is wondrous in its beauty in the summer. I just ranted in my head about the same stupid paranoias. They race around me, circling like jackals, howling with delight from my laced pain.

I am changing, growing, evolving. I will become someone new. I will improve as a writer.

Thanks, and take care, friends