The words we share are stories, told around the campfire of our lives. Shared here and there, now and then, with those around the world at the click of a button or the turn of a page. A book could sit on the shelf for a hundred years or more and never lose its power to move us. Such is what we do and why we do it.
Every moment of our lives is wrapped up in the words we write. The joy and the sorrow, those we meet and those we lost, and we reflect upon our words the life we live.
Mine, no, mine has not been perfect. When you drop the false pretenses of pretending that you can be free - then you can be. Your readers don't care. They only care that you continue on, to share words shaped by a life which they find interest in. We like to pretend we are 'big name writers' with fancy cars and homes on the coast, but in truth we are as humble as our readers, in most cases, and we live modest lives with average means.
We cry, bleed, smile, laugh, and get bills in the mail just like everyone else.
What we choose to do in the spare moments of our lives is to turn thoughts into words. A craft as old as cuneiform and the painting of the walls of caves, where humankind learned to turn symbols into meanings, advanced that craft into words and language, and then spread the most powerful force on Earth around - ideas.
Ideas are our legacy.
The idea that yes, I too can do this. Born out of stupidity and foolish dreams, the long hard road is never considered when we start, but it is always there. Waking up in hotels, long trips on the road, and that next leg of the journey to complete before we begin this all again. Always another night, always another show. Get up there on the stage and perform. Say hello to the fans. Shower. Eat. Sleep. Take care of business. Walk out on that tightrope every night. Deal with the anxiety you don't have time for dealing with every day. There is too much to do. I keep a ledger of the things I do, have yet to, and have done just so I don't forget about what I have or haven't done.
I am out here doing it. No time to worry. Let's get this done. I shall sleep later.
When I find time.
My books now. I am writing my books now. My thoughts drift to other worlds, in other times. My mind finds places and people elsewhere this day. My muse is returning, slowly, and I find this return is one born through something wholly unexpected.
It was fear. Courage is bringing me back.
Fear of what? I can't say really, but I find the more I am brave enough to write about the types of things which I feel are inside of me, the more I return. I suppose the porn-pocolypse on Amazon had something to do with it, along with demonetization on Youtube, and the issues with Paypal and some places I frequent where artists are just trying to find a way to express themselves and make a living.
You know, support me if you love what I do so I can do this full-time.
And all these places and companies are closing doors on free expression. It just floored me to see so much happen all at once, as if the Internet, once a great and free place where cultures came together and ideas were shared, turtled up, went corporate, and fled behind corporate enclaves where you can't really say what is in your heart.
And then my site died. The promise of free and open expression died with it, in my heart, and I am back on a place where I am a bit wary about what I post. But damn the hits and page views are good. You just can't do it on your own anymore, and you must be connected to the machine. And this machine has a random appetite for censorship, where it is so big individual appeals for fairness and human rights shall never be heard.
You are "adult products and services."
You violate our community standards.
You are explicit content.
You review books with content that would violate our terms of service. Seriously. In some places, even bondage would be tossed in with non-con, and don't even mention shifters or other sorts of legal and normal, healthy turn-ons. All subjects I gave voice to. I reviewed on their merits. I am critic. I sit in judgement like a goddess.
But my fears are mortal. I must survive.
The explicit truth is what I like to think of myself. To live a life without fear. To not look over my shoulder after what I write. I am a writer, after all. My gold is the honesty of my words, in both form and deed. I must write without fear.
And then the storm clouds build.
We write our words with scarlet letters hidden under shamed covers of black. I hear words like 'extremist content' being thrown around. Labels are made and stood up like boogeymen, and threatening words being used to push agendas. People being punished for what they read or the videos they watch. Topics banned, one after the other, until the red letters dance at the edge of the mainstream. Writers being tarred and feathered for what they write. It is going beyond corporate censorship, and moving into a very dark place. All fed by a culture of click-bait sensationalism where words are taken out of context for cheap hits and ad-revenue. The old world of tomorrow is broken. The rats are eating each other in this online world for dwindling money and bandwidth.
What I fear is silence.
And there is where I was.
And I fear where we shall be.
Every moment of our lives is wrapped up in the words we write. The joy and the sorrow, those we meet and those we lost, and we reflect upon our words the life we live.
Mine, no, mine has not been perfect. When you drop the false pretenses of pretending that you can be free - then you can be. Your readers don't care. They only care that you continue on, to share words shaped by a life which they find interest in. We like to pretend we are 'big name writers' with fancy cars and homes on the coast, but in truth we are as humble as our readers, in most cases, and we live modest lives with average means.
We cry, bleed, smile, laugh, and get bills in the mail just like everyone else.
What we choose to do in the spare moments of our lives is to turn thoughts into words. A craft as old as cuneiform and the painting of the walls of caves, where humankind learned to turn symbols into meanings, advanced that craft into words and language, and then spread the most powerful force on Earth around - ideas.
Ideas are our legacy.
The idea that yes, I too can do this. Born out of stupidity and foolish dreams, the long hard road is never considered when we start, but it is always there. Waking up in hotels, long trips on the road, and that next leg of the journey to complete before we begin this all again. Always another night, always another show. Get up there on the stage and perform. Say hello to the fans. Shower. Eat. Sleep. Take care of business. Walk out on that tightrope every night. Deal with the anxiety you don't have time for dealing with every day. There is too much to do. I keep a ledger of the things I do, have yet to, and have done just so I don't forget about what I have or haven't done.
I am out here doing it. No time to worry. Let's get this done. I shall sleep later.
When I find time.
My books now. I am writing my books now. My thoughts drift to other worlds, in other times. My mind finds places and people elsewhere this day. My muse is returning, slowly, and I find this return is one born through something wholly unexpected.
It was fear. Courage is bringing me back.
Fear of what? I can't say really, but I find the more I am brave enough to write about the types of things which I feel are inside of me, the more I return. I suppose the porn-pocolypse on Amazon had something to do with it, along with demonetization on Youtube, and the issues with Paypal and some places I frequent where artists are just trying to find a way to express themselves and make a living.
You know, support me if you love what I do so I can do this full-time.
And all these places and companies are closing doors on free expression. It just floored me to see so much happen all at once, as if the Internet, once a great and free place where cultures came together and ideas were shared, turtled up, went corporate, and fled behind corporate enclaves where you can't really say what is in your heart.
And then my site died. The promise of free and open expression died with it, in my heart, and I am back on a place where I am a bit wary about what I post. But damn the hits and page views are good. You just can't do it on your own anymore, and you must be connected to the machine. And this machine has a random appetite for censorship, where it is so big individual appeals for fairness and human rights shall never be heard.
You are "adult products and services."
You violate our community standards.
You are explicit content.
You review books with content that would violate our terms of service. Seriously. In some places, even bondage would be tossed in with non-con, and don't even mention shifters or other sorts of legal and normal, healthy turn-ons. All subjects I gave voice to. I reviewed on their merits. I am critic. I sit in judgement like a goddess.
But my fears are mortal. I must survive.
The explicit truth is what I like to think of myself. To live a life without fear. To not look over my shoulder after what I write. I am a writer, after all. My gold is the honesty of my words, in both form and deed. I must write without fear.
And then the storm clouds build.
We write our words with scarlet letters hidden under shamed covers of black. I hear words like 'extremist content' being thrown around. Labels are made and stood up like boogeymen, and threatening words being used to push agendas. People being punished for what they read or the videos they watch. Topics banned, one after the other, until the red letters dance at the edge of the mainstream. Writers being tarred and feathered for what they write. It is going beyond corporate censorship, and moving into a very dark place. All fed by a culture of click-bait sensationalism where words are taken out of context for cheap hits and ad-revenue. The old world of tomorrow is broken. The rats are eating each other in this online world for dwindling money and bandwidth.
What I fear is silence.
And there is where I was.
And I fear where we shall be.
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