Control: Losing Badly
I, Dalton Lewis, cannot get a win. I wrote another novel that sold fewer copies than the previous one. I can’t beat the voices inside of my head telling me that I have been bad and the bad guys are cleared. Dieting does nothing. Exercise? Occasionally I walk to the coffee shop. That’s my exercise — which is a little sad.
I need to change. I need to read more novels. I need to work harder at writing more effectively. Really, though, will that help? It takes years to build an audience. Well, it’s been years, and I still haven’t built a bigger audience. I haven’t improved my quality of writing to where normal people read my work and appreciate it.
I beat Mass Effect 2 again. Why isn’t reality as easy as a video game? Why does my prowess in saving countless lives in a video game translate into success in the real world? I don’t understand. I can comprehend and accomplish difficult tasks that require intellect, hard work, teamwork, and leadership. In the real world it means nothing. I have nothing.
I sit in my dirty room, with its books and video games and Warhammer 40k miniatures. Half-finished projects sit around the entire room. I have a dozen books to read. Some of them are classics, and some of them are pulp fun. I don’t rate either above the other.
I sold four copies of my novel in the first few days. Four. More people should try my novel. More people should read it and give it a real chance. No one is trying to give back to the writers who are obscure and need to self-publish.
What should I do? We picked up my nephew from the pool today. The next generation of people is taking charge of the world. They’re the youth — they’re the kids in America. I am no longer young. I am a fossil, a piece of mostly dead flesh that once had potential. I still persist. More novels need to be written. More stories have to be told. I will not ever quit trying.
Thanks, and take care, friends.