In the Pits of Despair
*FRUSTRATED BLOG TYPING*
My biggest peeve as an artist of different types is that being a cripple makes it even more difficult to also advance as an author. Were it something as simple as being in a wheelchair, I could go above and beyond what I needed to succeed in this venture, but if you read my About My Illnesses page, you'll find out it's not that simple and is pure, utter frustration. It can be downright annoying.
My plans of publishing in multiple languages continues to elude me because in order to be an author, one must be rich, not imaginative. I've seen books which lack plot and substance take off while good books rot under cobwebs. Usually this is because of finances. If one only earns enough to survive, one cannot afford to get their works recognized.
Another aspect is that people more and more do not appreciate the arts. They will support guys running around with balls and making a goal, but refuse to pick up a book. They also wait until a movie comes out. The movie cannot happen if they don't buy the books to support the author. People want books and art for free, too. If someone made butter, they wouldn't just give it away hoping people will show interest and buy more later. People need to realize that authors just created a ware, and while giveaways can happen, it's rude to assume that they'll just give away their baby like it was a hastily-made pet rock with crappy decals. My humanities class taught me that artists and authors were once respected for their works and were few, now they are a dime a dozen and no one can see the true artists among the fray of writers trying to get ahead. If a writer has poor language, grammar, and composition skills, they need professional help to get better. A lot of them are poor researchers, coming up with things and ideas of their own instead of taking the time to learn about it with the vast informational pool called the Internet. Too many times have I run into people like this who assumed they were terrific, then became rather angry when I gave them suggestions or corrected their language blunders. They will have to learn the hard way when they publish a flop. At least I tried to help.
Perhaps I have indeed done this to myself. Did I anger some higher power or the essence of the universe to invoke the wrath of ages upon my broken body? Did I ask to be a hobbling, imaginative fool destined to a life of agony because of broken genetics? No, I do not think so.
My greatest fault in life, was being born with a body destined to be crippled, and having the great misfortune of being poor. No one likes the poor. Perhaps it is indeed fate, as what humility can one learn by being born into wealth? Even the great beings and teachers of humility had to fall from grace, or be born into a caste which had to be persecuted, or even had the vision of a true oracle to see past their own posh beginnings.
Had I never married, I would have had enough money to lift myself up and build a franchise. Ironic, though, that love was my downfall. It is my hope that I do have fans out there, and that one day, they will raise me up and show me that love and happiness are not the curse I see them as.
