BY KATHRYN MAGENDIE
ME AND CHARLIE SHEEN
Kat Magendie is the Amazon.com bestselling author of TENDER GRACES, SECRET GRACES, SWEETIE and a contributor to the upcoming anthology, THE FIREFLY DANCE. Visit her at www.kathrynmagendie.com
I’ve just dragged my poor tired bulging bloodshot eyes over more articles than I can ever mention here (my brain hurts); although I don’t need to mention them because chances are pretty durn good you’ve read them or someone has forwarded them to you or shared them on twitter or Facebook or you know someone who knows someone who knows.
Yup, this old girl just lifted her heavy head from hours of reading about ebooks and ereaders and eauthors gone wild, traditional versus “indie” publishing and how the two are facing off in a battle the likes we haven’t seen since Luke battled the dark side *cue laser sounds here,* writers who are selling their books for fewer than three buckeroos (and sometimes ninety-nine centerinees) and becoming thousandaires and sometimes, GASP, millionaires.
I read about “everyday ordinary people” who suddenly went “viral,” and I don’t mean only writers, but just about anyone who can put together a pretty decent YouTube video and watch it race across the airwaves; and I read about the discovery of gifted and talented homeless people and the rush to exploit them, er um, I mean make-the-homeless person-and-not-the-discoverer-famous.
I’ve watched Charlie Sheen in fascinated wide-eyed open-mouthed wonder as he does the equivalent of what self-published authors are doing (see epic battle mentioned above)—“Aw, to heckles with you guys, I’m going this alone and I’ll make wads of cash doing it, too! I don’t need you anymore;” then there’s the finger raising and all—I won’t show you any cussing or finger-raising because my momma will read this, but you know, dontcha?
Thing is folks, I could sit here minute after hour after day after month after year and read up on how these people are making themselves Famous and Rich and Well-Known, and still I won’t be able to figure out how they’ve done it. If I could, I’d package it up in a cute little tube with a little stopper and sell it for ninety-nine cents. Just sayin’.
Seems everywhere I go I am confronted by news and images of someone who is suddenly viral and suddenly famous and suddenly millionaires and suddenly everywhere and all over—sometimes they stay that way and sometimes they disappear in a poof of magical sprinkles that rain down upon the heads of no one who notices anymore. And added to those voices are the thousands of others joining in the chorus who attempt to become virally rich and famous, and underneath those are the ones who are trying to figure out how they can eat a piece of the magical pie (as I admit I did this morning), and it’s this loud cacophony of voices and screams and, “LOOK AT ME’s,” and “ME ME ME HERE I AM MAKE ME FAMOUS ME! WHY NOT ME?”
I’m exhausted. I’m over-stimulated. I’m fascinated. I’m discombublated. I want a vodka and about sixty-three hundred million hours of quiet in my little mountain cove where I stay mostly reclusive (and isn’t it somehow against the law for a reclusive like me to become viral and famous and find sudden Bieber-like status? I need to look that up, later, yes later I will).
What it really comes down to in my little pea-headed brain this morning, other than I wasted a lot of time online when I should instead do what I do—write my books, is the need to separate my thoughts about making lots and pots of money and many sprinkles and tinkles of fame OR just do what I do and do it the best I can and let the pennies and accolades fall where they may. I mean, what is my responsibility here? What is my purpose? If I don’t try to find the formula, or the formula find me, to become Rich and Famous and Viral, am I somehow lacking? Am I considered unsuccessful? Am I a fool for not jumping on the Viral Bandwagon (if that were even possible, for again, becoming “viral” is somehow magical!). Or, is my modest success, just, well, okay. Is Okay okay anymore these days?
The thought of it all sends me back to bed and under the covers, so I can drown out the noise of all the “ME ME ME!” but also so I can drown out my own voice of, “Why isn’t it YOU YOU YOU? What’s wrong with YOU; why aren’t YOU rich and famous. WHAT ARE YOU DOING WRONG, WOMAN?” And even though I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, still the little pricked thoughts prick, the little pricks they are. My un-viral success feels un-successful. Whaaa?
I suppose until I become Viral, I could just keep writing my books the best I can write them. They’ll be out there floating around in all the madness, adding my own tired-arse little voice to the crowd. But they’re my words and characters. I created them. I breathed life into those words and characters. I did something right, right? Right? Please tell me I did something. Right?
