Why I’m Never Going To Make It As A Self-Published Writer!

Although I didn’t think of it at the time, my obsession with front covers displaying dirty pub bathrooms can probably be counted as a contributing factor!

I think that there is one reason I’m never going to really ‘make it’ as a self-published writer; – if we ignore the facts that I still don’t really think of myself as a writer and that the writing I do is undeniably bleak and often comes across as pretentious, narcissistic and unpleasant – I’m terrible at self-promotion.

I don’t just mean that as I don’t have the personal confidence to walk up to a stranger and offer them a free copy of a book, though I have done a few things similar to that in the past, but that I look at my own writing and cannot understand why I find it appealing and, by extension, why anyone else should. My biggest problem, I’ve found, is that I can’t write descriptions of the things I write; a problem which has never been more obvious than my attempts to begin the thousand little things I still need to do for The Caitiff.

How can I write an accurate synopsis of the narrative when the narrative is, deliberately, thrown into the back seat to make room for bleak tone and striking imagery? And how can I list the topics I have attempted to filter through the narrator’s perspective without coming across as a monumental prat?

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I’ve got The Divine Comedy on the go, and I’m re-reading Age Of Reason when I’m on the bus or wherever – people are less likely to take the piss if it looks like you’re reading prose and not poetry, although any book I seem to read attracts vitriol from shaven-headed inbreds that think they own Wigan… You don’t think it could be me, do you?

The fact that I am pretentious is an easy one to point out and, to be perfectly honest, I wish I wasn’t, that I might be able to interact with perhaps more exciting subject matter, but when I try I find myself despising the words which appear on this blank page all the sooner. But, still, this pretentious snobbery from which I cannot seem to escape is stopping me from writing the kind of fiction that, I can already tell you, people will want to read.

I think that I, also, lack the interesting life and the personal charisma to effectively build relationships with people, as many self-published authors rely on to sell copies of their work. I’m overly-tall, skeletally thin with a natural frown over which I have little control, personal politics which revolt against absolutism and apathy and authority and, yet, know that these things are necessary if we want society to continue – I’m not as well read as I, perhaps, appear to be (for example, I’ve never read Finnegan’s Wake – although it is in my reading pile), I’m incompetent and, up to now, unemployable.

I am more likely to be found sat in this overly-large, bitterly cold room, huddled besides the radiator with two dressing gowns on, or sat in the dark corner of a pub, than at the poetry readings and independent book fairs I feel like I should go to.

I have a personal morality which makes me ill-suited for the modern world, as an opposition to the logic that I come close to worshipping – for example, I refuse to have my tooth fixed at the cost of the NHS because… reasons. I couldn’t explain why – I think that’s transferable to self-publishing really.

I think, on some level, I am opposed to myself and my writing, and I feel arrogant attributing any worthiness to it – what right do I have to charge people to read the words I have strung together? Why would people pay to read about a God of Money and his Disciples? Why would anyone want to know that the society and the system I am using to promote my own work is the same one I rail against?What is the point of self-publishing literary fiction of a convoluted nature when, it has been proved, that genre fiction and easy-to-read prose are the new kings?

I think I’m a hypocrite – and why would a hypocrite deserve to ‘make it’ as anything, least of all an author?

One thought on “Why I’m Never Going To Make It As A Self-Published Writer!

  1. In some ways, the writer themselves bashes their own work and potential. But because you get used to how you write, where you make mistakes, it masks the shock people other than you see in your writing. I get what you mean, with the whole not being able to confidently supporting yourself and what you choose to write about, but sometimes, writers write things for reasons, and sometimes not knowing it is a part of that journey. It is not only a lesson for the reader, but a lesson for the writer too. To understand themselves and appreciate some hidden thoughts, they’ve subconsciously kept away.

    – Beep Toot

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