Let's Talk Turkey!

 I mean, not THAT turkey. It's still not Halloween yet, and I don't like the turkey holiday, or turkey. But, anyway, let's talk books and writing and what I'd like to do in the coming months.

First, let me say this once more, I have no plans to write any sequels to any current books, anytime soon. 

Why? You are asking, because I can hear you asking why why why when when when insert either series in here... 

Well, because the writing/publishing business is harsh. And the reality is, the second book in the one series and every single book post the third one in the other series failed to make enough money to support the continuation of those series. 

And the second, lesser important reason, I burnt out on those characters and never want to write them ever again, but that could always change.

I'm mean. I'm rude. I know. I've been told. Many times.

That doesn't change the hard fact that none of the sequels earned money. I can't track pirate sites or sharing. I can only track official sales and page read invoices. And I did. Religiously. Three of the four Scrimmage books haven't even crossed the thousand units paid mark after years. Diva did okay, it's around two thousand units paid after nine years. I made back what I spent on it. That's about it. But the thing is nine hundred million people have read it, it seems. I don't know if the other three sequels, one direct, made the pirate site rounds as no one has asked about them. But, that just tells me more about the interest in that series. All I can do is take my hard data and come to the conclusion that there is no interest and go from there.

Am I being a bitch when I say, if you got my books for free from a site that I did not approve the use of, then you stole my book. Therefore, you do not have the right to bitch me out because I stopped writing.

If you procured my book through official means, whether buying or KU or Kobo Plus, then you are not the problem, and thank you for your support. I wish there were more of you. I really do.

As an independent, self-publishing, writer, I pay for everything out of my pocket. I pay for the covers. I pay for editing. I pay for certain formatting. I pay for promotion. I spend months writing, more months rewriting, months editing. Long months. Tons of hours. To put out the best book I can. Now, we don't always catch all of the editing mistakes. Or I choose to ignore editing advice to fit my voice. And yes, there have been mistakes. But, guess what, you'll find that is an industry wide thing. Including "real" published books. Words are hard. Things slip past. It happens. Move on.

The point is, I've written several books in the past few years that never earned a damned thing. I took it hard. Every single book released since 2016 failed. I've pushed them. I've begged. I've done everything I know to do, but they still remained unwanted. 

So, that's where we are, two days before the 2026 fiscal book year begins. Ten years of little to no interest in anything new I write. So, I stopped. If there was a message being sent, I received it. Mercy is unwanted. Except those damn sequels that still don't sell well on official sites.

Yes, I'm kinda bitter about it. 

The industry changed in those ten years. I couldn't keep up with it. I had personal tragedies to deal with first. Today, nine years ago, my mother died, leaving me a mess to clean up, financially, and every other way imaginable. My brother and sister made probate hell. It took three years to settle her "estate". The mental anguish of dealing with people you once loved after the death of a parent damn near destroyed me. And still, all these years later, I'm unhealed. Everything I tried to write in the first years after was horrible, angry, dark, so dark, I feared for my sanity. When you already write dark fiction and you fall into an abyss... I thought I'd never return if I followed through with any of those stories. Sometimes I still wonder if I'd return if I followed those two series to their conclusions, but that's not the point.

The point is, ten years. It's been ten long years of trying to drag myself back to even a tiny percent of what I had at the beginning of 2015. Of struggling to push stories no one wants. Of wondering what I did wrong. Of trying to keep up with the industry. 

And I have to wonder if this is it.

I've talked about ending this in the past. Of putting Mercy out of my misery. Of finally getting the message and moving on. 

I am so very bitter that it just died, seemingly, over night. After Out of the Blues, and the horrible reviews and backhanded compliments of a book that sold a fuck ton... then nothing. Like a switch flipped off. 

I just don't know what to say or do. 

Sometimes, someone, somewhere, finds Beyond Complicated and I make a little money. I'll maybe make four hundred dollars this month because someone somewhere started up some interest earlier this month but that's died off now. 

The twin book still sells a couple books a month despite the price, and that I don't have direct links to it anywhere. 

But that's about it. The twisted books. 

But I can't write that anymore. Soo... 

Here I am on the precipice, once again, of what to do, versus what I want to do.

What I want to do is write, to carry on like I mean to carry on. What I can't do, is pay for even a book cover now. Much less three rounds of edits. Or promotion. I can't do promotion to save my life now.

I've played with the idea of a jumpstarter campaign to pay for new covers and formatting to put the older books in paperback. Or even audio. But I don't follow through because I don't think I have enough interested parties to help fund anything. Or, I don't want to find out that I don't have the support I need. Either way... 

Here we are. Cold, hard, truths. For you, and for me.

I want to continue. I can't afford to continue. And... that's about the best I can say.

I'd like to start with Under a Crescent Moon. I'd like a new cover. I'd like to take it to print. Moon is blocked from Kindle Unlimited. There's nothing I can do about that. I've considered changing the title, but don't want to risk it. I'd like to see more sales, to maybe tell me there's interest in a sequel. Because once that book left KU it died. 

I'd like to pay for discreet covers for the main four books in the scrimmage series and both the Cold and Lace series. I like the e-covers for all of my series books and now that they all match each other I don't want to change them. But I would like to put out paperbacks that look good and match the current covers. 

I've considered changing my strictly straight books to a new pen name and updating and refreshing them. It's not a priority. Just a thought. I'd like to write more straight stories. Again, not a priority.

I need to refresh the covers for Beyond Complicated and Shift in Time. I want to put them in paperback but that's not a large priority. I've never had much interest in print books when I had them out.

I'd like to start with my shorter stories and do some audio. The problem is, I won't ever go back to Audible, and I can't afford to pay for production out of pocket. And audio is expensive. Very expensive. And, even if I could afford to pay for production, I don't know where to host it. 

I feel like, if I can somehow handle the financial aspects, I can focus on something new for 2026. But, that's a me problem. And I don't know how to fix that problem without feeling like I'm begging.

So, I don't ask for help. I just hope something happens and word of mouth starts somewhere that all of my books are sitting trapped in KU for two more months and it costs nothing to try out the newer books. And hope for the best.

I'm not going to post links. If you've read this and would like to help me fund a refresh of Under a Crescent Moon to start, my Ko-Fi and Venmo links are in my linktree found under the ABOUT tab in the menu bar. the last four digits of my phone number if Venmo asks is 3340. Or maybe visit the store tab and pick up a book you might be missing from your library.

Anyway, if you made it this far, thanks for hanging around, and for everything. 

Peace,

Mercy

Happy Halloween... well Almost Halloween

 Happy Halloween eve eve eve... or something like that.

Is it just me or has this been the longest shortest month in the history of long short months?

It feels like it was just August and now we're in the final week of October. It also feels like October has been here for three months.

I know I have time concept problems but this is a bit much.

Time for me is odd. I know exactly what time it is at any given moment, roughly, give or take ten minutes. I don't know why I know. I just know. I've always just known. But I have no concept of days passing. Like, for instance, I can do something on a day, and then two weeks have passed and I think I did that just the day before. Like, no, that was yesterday. No that was Sunday. Yeah, three weeks ago.

I can't explain it. 

It's why I forget to blog.

It's why I forget to do so many things. Return that email, or that text, or that phone call, which I'd rather be shot before I call someone back... but you get the drift.

I have intentions. My intentions are good. I just forget what fucking day those intentions were made on and think it was the day before.

I'd like to say it's procrastination, because if it is, I'm a master of procrastination. It's not. I know when I deliberately put things off. I know when things are due. I just can't be assed to do those things in a sane timeline. Deliberate procrastination is completely different. 

So, anyway, it's now the end of Spooky Season, and we barely put up any decorations. Honestly, there are many houses without anything outside this year. I think everyone is like me. It doesn't feel like Halloween. It's been hot. It doesn't feel like fall. The world has gone to shit. I'm not paying 25 bucks for a small bag of candy. I can't open the door for the kids because the idiot dogs are idiots.

SIGHS!

My entire TikTok timeline last night was Christmas. But somehow Yule took over and that's what I'd like to do now. I don't have small children. I've never much cared for the concept of Christmas and Santa, I participated in that because we live in the bible belt and I didn't want my kids to feel left out. As I've gotten older I find myself viewing this part of the year more through the pagan gaze. Don't get me wrong, I'm not into any kind of organized religion not even Wicca. But, I feel the strong need to make simmer pots and a besom.

Did I ever tell you about my Great-Grandmother Mayola? No? She died when I was 7 or 8 but I remember her well. She lived in a little salt box house in Altha, Florida. They had tons of land and kept two chicken coops. One for the fancy chickens with feather bloomers, that's what she called them, her bloomer chickens. They laid little blue eggs. There was a half circle drive and the house was hidden from view of the highway by a line of date palms. Those trees smelled like the devil when the dates rotted. Anyway, her house was surrounded by an ornate metal fence and inside that fence, her yard, all the way around, was nothing but flowers. Just flowers, no grass, no beds for the flowers. Just flowers. She had two concrete flamingos by her front steps. Inside she kept tiny little brooms made from stick bundles beside her doors. I remember being fascinated by those little brooms. I remember people having fits when I decided I needed to ride one of them... 

Sometimes, I look back on my childhood and think it might have been a fever dream. I remember my Great-Grandfather, he died when I was 3. My first real memories that I can attach a time to was his funeral. He was buried in the front yard. Mayola joined him four years later. Then my great-aunt Eula, then my mother, Marion, then my grandmother Eola. I had no other grandfathers. Well, I did, but considering I never met him, and that Eola delighted in telling me how he'd molested her daughters, I'm happy for never knowing him.

I grew up in a world of women, most of them batshit crazy, my grandmother and great-aunt owned corporate farms that they ran by themselves. But I go back to my great-grandmother and her little salt box house in the middle of a hundred acres of crops and her yard of flowers and her besom brooms and wonder...

I think that's where I am in life. I'm trying to make sense of my childhood while moving into the final half of my life and how simple everything should be, but isn't. How I still live by what I learned then, good and bad, mostly bad. How I wish I hadn't had to protect my own children from the bad, because the bad was so very bad. I regret that my youngest never knew a single grandparent, not really. 

Double Sighs. I don't know where I meant to go with this... I'm just kinda feeling down. October does that to me now. My relationship with my mother was not good. It was abusive. She was raped by her father for most of her childhood and never had help in dealing with that. I understand why my mother was the way she was, but I can't forgive her for taking it out on us. And now, nine years after her death and that there was never any kind of closure... 

Anyway... I guess that's the update for the end of Spooky month. It's now SAD month and it's kinda hard to move past it. I think I'll find Practical Magic and put it on to watch tonight. I'm feeling like I should openly say, I think my great-grandmother was a witch of some sort and embrace that. I'm not a garden witch, not with my black thumbs, but I still remember her recipes. Even though she died nearly fifty years ago. So maybe that's what I am. The only great grand child who knew her, or remembers her. Maybe that's what I've needed to say all along. It's also why I didn't bury my mother in front of her house on Halloween. 

Anyway, whatever, y'all... and we whatevered.

If I get my ADHD under control, I'll talk to you on the first. I don't know what my plans are for the future, but I know if I stay like this I'll be homeless by Christmas. Er... Yule.

Peace,

Mercy

October... with Dread!

 October is finally here. My favorite month. Any day now it will start to feel like fall. Right now it feels hot, dry, and crispy. Not crisp. Crispy. It's too dry. Everything looks and smells dead. Usually, by now, we have the inside fall and Halloween decorations up. We really don't do outside stuff. I tried when the kids were little, but honestly, we don't really go out front that much so it's just not something we do. I would like to do something on the front porch this year. I just can't find the motivation. 

Honestly, I feel like there's no real point. I mean, my youngest still lives at home, and loves Halloween. But even they don't seem to have the spirit this year. 

And, I can't ever shake the feeling that October is now the month of death. My father-in-law died in October 2015, my mother in 2016, my grandmother in 2017, then the husband's older brother came down with what now seems to be Covid in October of 2019, but didn't pass until November. 

Let's just say it's been six Octobers but I can't seem to trust it anymore.

But... you really wanted to read about my macabre fears didn't you?

Meh. 

It's everything. It's damned hard to find some kind of holiday spirit, even for spooky month, when we are living in horrifying times. 

Yes, politics. I am decidedly left leaning. Always have been. I have trans children. Not one, but two, and one non-gendered child. And even if I didn't, I've always believed live and let live. As in it's not my business what other people do. And mind your own house before casting aspersions on mine. That kind of shit. I'm atheist too. Goddamn bleeding heart liberal... as if that's something to be ashamed of. I'd be more ashamed to not be one. horrible selfish bigot assholes.

So basically... life sucks and we're living some kind of twisted hunger games scenario and covid is sweeping through the college dorms like wildfire and I haven't felt well all week... and.............

ANYWAY!

I would like a trip to someplace cool with crisp clean air and orange and red leaves and sweaters because I am so ready to wear sweaters and be comfortable again.

If I had the money I'd get on the newly restored Amtrack service from Mobile to New Orleans and take the City of New Orleans to Chicago, then maybe something over to New York then down the eastern seaboard to Jacksonville, then rent a car and drive back home, stopping at my hometown on the way back. That's what I would do. Youngest has a friend in Detroit they want to go see. I've never been north of Chattanooga to the east. It would be nice. Maybe next year, if the world settles down, take the bucket list trip to Ireland, on an ocean liner. Wouldn't that be lovely?

Anyone got the winning lotto numbers? Better yet anyone want to make the drive over to Florida to pick up some tickets? 

SIGHS!

Yeah... maybe one day.

For now, here's hoping October is kind and I'll talk to you again later.

Peace,

Mercy

Hey, Look, It's Not Thursday!

 I mean I had intended to post yesterday but I ran out of time, soo... you're welcome?

Sooo.... what's happening? Anything good? Because I sure as hell don't want to talk about the bad (gesturing vaguely to everything). 

September has Septembered is best I can say. It's hot. The trees are all turning yellow or dying way too early. Did I mention it's hot? I think yesterday was the first time it's rained since mid-August. It's hot, dry, and wrong, atmospherically speaking.

I don't know what else to say about other things. I threw my good knee out early in the month. My seldom needed cane has become a constant need. My left knee has been bad for decades, stemming from a childhood injury, that isn't really fixable without going through other, worse, fixes that I absolutely choose not to deal with this late in life. I mean, the original injury barely healed when I was ten, I doubt it would heal at all at fifty-six. So there's that. I need a motorized scooter for big walking needs. SIGHS! Anyway, health wise, I guess things are fine. Aubrey has been back in school for more than a month and hasn't brought home any colds or viruses. I'd like to think that university is different in that aspect. But a lot of people sharing a singular space is still a lot of people sharing a singular space no matter how you crack it.

The family cat, stage name Ebil, real name Rey, has decided I'm now her favorite person in the world. She's nine and a half and never thought much of me beyond the general co-existence and that I am somehow the protector of the others and the go-getter of food. I am allowed to pet her, only on her head, usually between her ears and under her chin, for an unclear amount of time that could be as short as two seconds or as long as two minutes, and then it's bitey time. No touching the butt or the tail and lord forbid I get near the tummy. But that has changed. She must now lay on me in the mornings. I must pet and pat and scratch all the parts. I must coo and sweet talk her. And she must be allowed to stand on my belly with her butthole in my face to make biscuits on the tender part of her choosing. I do not make the rules. She does. And how dare I not pet the exact right spot exactly when she wants that spot pet... but also don't touch that spot.

SIGHS LOUDLY!

And then there's Dawg. Not a stage name. My mini-dachshund. When I say my, I do mean mine. My dog. Whether I want him or not. He is mine and more importantly I am his. His mission in life is to guard me with every ounce of his little being. Considering he doesn't stand much taller than my ankles, it is a large undertaking. He is fierce. He is terror from the knee down. And yes, he is all that and a bag of chips. He might be mini but he is mighty. He's also twelve plus years old and dying. Completely blind now, he's losing his hearing, and his sniffer. He sleeps a lot. A lot more than he used to. He's confused. His little body is deteriorating rapidly, and I fear one more seizure will be the end of him. But, he's happy. I guess that's what matters. When he gets to the point that he seems to be in obvious pain, and can't get around on his own, I'll have to make the hard choice. Until then, I just talk really loudly and make sure his blankets are washed and his beds are nearby.

We do have another dog. I don't like that dog. He is not my dog. I wish I didn't get that dog. But Aubrey loves him. I feel bad that I don't like him. But that's all I have to say about him.

People are good. The grandson is growing like a little weed. He's built like a cinder block with arms and legs. And curly blond hair. He does not like dogs. 

Not much else to talk about. 

Ahh, the books. 

Well, I guess I should talk about what I've done.

I spent the month poring over the data from a year in wide release and... well... Nothing is in wide release anymore. Not even Under a Crescent Moon. Right now everything is available on Amazon and in my Payhip store. Well, some books are available in my Payhip store. The twenty that are in Kindle Unlimited are not in the Payhip store.

I priced every book at either $2.99 or $3.99, depending on length. And I returned 20 titles to Kindle Unlimited.

Why? not because I wanted to. Because that's where the business is. If there's no business in wide, then what's the point of wide.

In other words, I give up. I mean, I'd given up years ago, but, I give the fuck up completely. I might return everything but Moon and River's Edge to KU before the month is over. Moon is blocked from KU and there's nothing I can do about that. I've played with the idea of pulling it from sale and changing the title. I've done that before. But none of the titles I changed were blocked from KU and I'm no strikes away from losing my account there, through no fault of my own.

Pride Publishing/Total e-bound is to blame for that. They didn't remove either of the two books I had with them from all platforms and after I re-issued the books after the rights reverted back to me and I placed them in KU Amazon punished me. Moon just happened to be my third strike and Amazon would not listen to my defense, so, Moon was permanently blocked from KU. Funnily enough, four or so years later I got a warning that that version of Moon was being sold in European markets by the previous publisher and I almost lost my account again because of TeB. But, this time Amazon sided with me and helped me get them to take it down because my emails were going unanswered. When they finally got around to contacting me, they had all kinds of excuses. But that's the way they operated. The way they still operate, as I'm told by authors dealing with the same crap.

Y'all, there's four reasons I don't deal with publishers. Of the five publishers I was with four of them fucked me over in vastly different and equally devastating ways. My opinion of publishing houses is that they're all bad in one way or another and for those who have never had any problems with their publisher I always add YET to their claims. You haven't had any problems... yet. Or that you know of. Because you never know exactly how many copies your book has sold. You can only hope that your publisher is honest in their reporting. And their payments are on time. And that they're not raking in money hand over fist that goes into one account that covers all of their operating expenses when it should be in a separate account, and that they won't suddenly close and declare bankruptcy and... yeah, that's happened too many times.

Point is, as an indie author I cover all of my expenses. Everything from the writing subscriptions to the editing to the cover to the formatting to the marketing is one hundred percent on my dime and time. And I can't afford to do any of it anymore. But at least I'm not doing all that just to have someone steal every damn dime I earned and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about while doing it. Been there, done that, don't trust a damn person in this industry. And yes, my experience is my experience, and other authors experiences are their experiences and no one has the same experience. And I hope and pray you never have a publisher do you as bad as any single one of the four that I had did me. But, always err on the side of... yet. It hasn't happened... yet. 

So, if you're still here, all of my book pages to the right of your screen are up to date. Go grab whatever book you've missed or if you haven't read one in KU now is a good time. And maybe if enough people take advantage of that, then maybe I can afford to jump back into the game.

Until then,

Happy Fall

and as ever,

Peace

Yet Another Thursday Post

 It's been a bit since I blogged last. I don't have much to say. I think I maintain the FB feed and the occasional blog post now as a form of proof of life.

I mean, I don't write anymore. In bits and starts. I decide what I'm writing is shit and I stop. Because it is... shit. I don't read anymore... because I can't find anything that isn't shit. Yes, I know, I'm too critical. Yes, I know, I should get over it. 

Here's the thing... I can't. I spent too many years reading shit stories with five star reviews to get over it. I spent too many years of my work being held to much higher standards than those suck ass books with terrible storytelling, and worse editing than mine, to get over it. Why, yes, I am still salty about it. She's a good story teller. She needs a better editor. She's a shit writer. I just can't with these characters. Ugh... the worst. 

Look, I know my books were never going to appeal to everyone. I know. I get it. And they weren't meant to. I think the review that said the only reason I read this author is because their books are cheap was the straw that broke me.

I read my work with a critical eye. I am my own worst critic. I can't seem to get to a point I would even give it to an editor now. Not that any editor would want to put their name on my work and I did warn them that it doesn't matter how thoroughly it's combed through someone will nitpick it to death.

So... yeah, I don't know why I still maintain the Mercy media pages. I've given up trying to get people to read my last few books. I won't write the stuff that floods the Amazon charts. I don't like omega stuff. I don't like daddy stuff. I don't know anything about hockey. I don't follow trends. Yadda yadda.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying those books are shit. I am saying that I don't personally like those genres and will not read them. You read what you like. Not my business. I'm saying that when I read a story and I want to crawl through the page to beat the writer in the head with it, for varying reasons, mostly bad writing and AI nonsense now, it's shit. Again. I have friends who love stories I think are terrible. To each their own. You do you boo. 

So, really, it boils down to, I just blog as proof of life. I'm here. I have nothing to say about writing or reading. I craft and thrift and try to make ends meet reselling stuff on ebay now. 

But, even if I could get past the I suck mentality to write again... there's nothing I want to write. I have never been the type to follow a trend and bang out a quicky story in a month (I still don't know how those writers do that, okay I honestly think they don't but meh, some people could write that fast). I write the story my messed up brain tells me to write. And right now... it's not romance. Of any kind. And that's what Mercy writes, mostly. I don't watch football anymore. I lost my taste for it. I am old. I don't want to write young people stories. I don't want to write sex. I don't know enough to write suspense. I like cozy mystery, but have never really wanted to write it. But even then, most of the books I think are shit now, are cozy mystery. Too many. Too terrible. 

So what does that leave?

I published my first book as Mercy January 24, 2011. Or I should say, Liquid Silver Books published Double Coverage January 24, 2011, launching my new pen name Mercy Celeste.

I've entertained the idea of doing something to celebrate the fifteenth anniversary... but, honestly, I have no idea what to do, or if it even matters. I think it's time to quietly let it all go and stop worrying about why it went, or how to get it back. But... meh.

Just me thinking on a Thursday. But, waves, I'm here. I'm alive.

Peace,

Mercy

Thoughts on a Thursday

 Just random shit today. Whenever I try to stick to a blog theme it all just kinda evolves into a squirrel brain free-for-all. I mean, that's how I think. It's a constant barrage of noise in my head. There has always been a constant barrage of noise in my head. Good, bad, comical, horror... music lyrics without the lyrics. Do not ask me what I mean by that. I couldn't tell you if I tried. My brain works fast. It doesn't stop. It doesn't matter what it is. It's like 1 2 3 4 skip topic 5 6 7 now that thing that happened in 3rd grade that you forgot about is here, let's change to shame and 8 1 2 oh shit we're out of dogfood.

Today has been very long. I have been up for nearly 12 hours. My brain is firing on all freak out cylinders while my body is collapsing. 

I made the mistake of going to Amazon to look for something to read in KU because right now I have a free subscription. I found a person I used to know, who sat in front of me and told me how jealous they were of my writing career while fan girling over me and said "I don't want my career I want yours". Well, I guess she got it. I mean I wasn't doing anything with it, so does it matter.

But I never could look at her again without thinking how much she scared me. She wasn't a friend. She wasn't a fan. She was, well, worse. 

And here I am comparing myself to her, and her shitty books, and yes I do think her books from back then were shitty. She just had a good marketing team. That is all. 

If I'd ever had a marketing team... where would I be now?

Probably right where I am, because most of the reason I don't write isn't about marketing. Well, it is. But it's about shit in my personal life that kicked me until something gave out. 

I don't talk about my experience with my 15 minutes. And that's what my "career" was. a very quick blink and you'll miss it 15 minutes. That I had no idea how I achieved, or how to keep it when it started slipping through my fingers. 

Do I want it back? I'd be lying if I said no. But I can't say yes either. I liked the money. I did not like the fame (as miniscule as that was). I could not handle people like that friend up there. Fawning at me to my face. Talking shit about me behind my back. Was she the only one? No. Did I ever do anything for her to help boost her career? also no. Honestly, I didn't like her. We lived in two very different worlds. I felt uncomfortable around her. And when we ghosted each other, I forgot about her. Until I saw her pen name again. 

And that's the rabbit hole I went down. The writers I've met and friended and where they are now and where it all went... and for the most part it was just mutual ghosting. People who moved into my realm and out again. But the ones I thought were friends. The ones I actively worked with and helped and thought this is my circle this is my group... who never once returned the favor and when they got theirs... well... at least they didn't tell me to my face they were jealous. If I'd figured that out then maybe I wouldn't distrust everyone now.

Ahh, so that's the thoughts for tonight. I knew it would pop up somewhere in here. The theme of this night is pity party... of one.

I think I just got de ja vu... twice.

SIGHS!

I have no circle. I have no team. I've never really had a circle. I know that now. I never had a team. What I did, for however brief a time it was, I did it without any of that. Sure there was word of mouth back then. There were people who came to me. Who left when I couldn't give them whatever they were looking for from me. Because I literally can not and do not understand how to handle the social part of it all. 

Of being trapped at a book con in the bathroom, with my back to the sink counter, by a group of people raving about my book, to each other, without looking at me... like. Okay. How do you deal with that?

I wrote this thing. I'm happy you liked it. The degree to which you like it is stunningly terrifying to me. The degree to which you hated it, well, that I understand. That makes sense. It's terrible. It's shit. I can't write for shit. I don't trust those people in the former category at all because... well... for one I was trapped in a social situation that triggered a panic attack and all there was to do was flee. But hell, yeah, I absolutely understand the hate. 

You have absolutely no idea what it's like to have someone smile at you and say pretty words of praise but you can see the absolute hate in their eyes. The "this fat bitch has this thing she does not deserve while I'm so much better and  she has what I want"... you can feel it like a slap in the face. Full force. I saw it. I recognized it. I let her go. She got her team. She's made big best seller lists that I will never get close to. 

And, for tonight. Just tonight. I'm the one sitting at that table looking at her with jealous eyes thinking you got something you didn't deserve, but hey, that's nice for you. I wish you well. Just as I wish the few who I called friends, well. 

But does that mean I'm going to get off my ass and write something new. Because I saw someone and felt the bitter feels for what I've lost, through my own faults... probably not. Because now, it's not about my ability to write a story that will ever bring me back to where I was. It's about marketing. And marketing is about socializing and playing nice with others. And I absolutely do not have that ability, or need. It's not enough to write a book now. You have to have... well, there's this guy down in Australia that got on booktok and all the booktok girlies went nuts for him so he got a three book contract without ever having written a word in his life. 

And that's the world of publishing that we live in. Ability need not apply, there's an AI app for that somewhere. 

Peace,

Mercy