As I feared, I’ve discovered that I have heretofore been invisible. Fortunately, by some twist of nature, I have recently become detectable to humans. I’m not certain as to the mechanism, but I’m thinking it’s related to the CERN supercollider. It is possible that I am the famous Higgs Boson.
But please, do not call me the God Particle. In fact, the correct term is “That goddamn particle,” to which I also object, for obvious reasons.
The reason I am certain as to my recent visibility, is that people in my actual life have begun to discover I write books. That’s cool, I suppose, were it not for the fact that I’ve completed five of the
fuckers tomes. Even more exciting, is that someone at work approached me to say his roommate read my first book and really liked it, and has bought the second. He came to ask me if I’ve written more.
It is the first time ANYONE has told me in person they’ve read, or know someone who read my books. My mom read it, but she doesn’t count. She had to read it — it’s in the Handbook.
Anyway, it did make my day, in an odd way, as I’ve never mentioned my book to him before. (Of those
fuckers to whom I have mentioned it, zero have bought it. Fuckers. I don’t mind.)
Coincidentally, at a (non-work-related) business meeting today, I mentioned, in the context of the conversation, that I’m a writer. The other person immediately asked for my list of titles. Big deal, right? People do that all the time. The difference is this time, later in the day, I received a text from another of the meeting attendees asking for help finding my titles on Amazon.
All of this is after people accidentally noticed I’ve been a photographer since I was 16. Like I said, I’m not sure how the boffins at CERN made me visible to others, but I do appreciate it.
Maybe they can get
the fuckers my friends to actually give a shit about care about my work. Naw, that’s just crazy talk. I had an old friend let me know she didn’t allow her son to borrow my books because she liked how I signed them. I have no bloody idea how I signed them. I’m guessing, “Love, Bill.” She isn’t reading them because she doesn’t like the Fantasy genre. My response was that an unread book is like an unkissed bride. That mad her sad, but likely not sad enough to read them. As a result, I’ve decided not to sign any more books. If people want to collect something, they can buy trading cards. Books are for reading.
What about you? Do the people in your life care about what you care about, or are you pigeonholed into whatever role they traditionally knew you in? Commenters win a change to receive copies of Discovery and Awakening in paperback form. Seriously.