Profit Motive

I'll drop any pretense of BS and level with you, dear single reader.

I feel that my little business has gone to pot, or at least, that it's been progressing at the speed of molasses. For various reasons, I have been missing opportunities to schmooze-- that is, to make acquaintances, friends  and business contacts who could potentially bring in the funds I need for getting the business back on track. I have been missing out on videographer assignments that could have put me that much more securely on the goddamned map and increased my value to the teevee people I work for.[1][2]

God knows I need supplies for the copier, a new laminator, and likely a new computer to boot. I need funds for personal food, new clothes and a satisfying visit to the doctor. You know, one where I won't have to go home knowing absolutely nothing about the causes behind the symptoms I'm feeling, for lack of very liquid funds that can be used --without question or quibble-- for very extensive, expensive tests. I have a health card whose terms seem so Byzantine that I'm afraid of spending too much time reading them, let alone using the card itself. Then there's social security to pay for, due on the last day of this coming September. I haven't bought and assembled a model kit in two years. Every time I feel a pressure on my neck or on my temples, I can't shake the feeling that I'm going to die really horribly, really soon.    

Days like this, I want to be a US Republican and howl at an unjust tax system and a large bureaucratic government hell-bent on taxing and regulating me to death. Please don't quote me on that.

So what does all this have to do with my moribund Lit blog?

I'm considering making changes and churning out content more regularly. No, the blog will not be monetized, but every time I write about writing, it'll show up here, on the off-chance that it helps someone out there and that it helps to send--yes, opportunities for schmoozing-- my way.[3] The stories, the poems will still be put up here, as well as on my deviantArt account and other venues, but I aim to be more selective of what goes here, since I may have to commercially publish that content one day, hopefully soon.

Anyone whose spoken with me at length will be acquainted with my disillusionment with writing, as it keeps failing the acid test for me-- If it doesn't quickly and reliably get you a roof over your head, food on your table and a woman in your bed[4], then you shouldn't be dependent on it for a living. Why, then, the change of heart?

Every time I feel a pressure on my neck or on my temples, I can't shake the feeling that I'm going to die really horribly, really soon.

That, and the hope that the people at Author at Once have actually managed to inspire in me. Check them out, if you feel like trying your hand as an independent author, or even if you feel like you could use something worthwhile to do with your time.

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[1] One feels inclined to partially blame inclement weather and unexpected death, but no one, no one,  likes a whiner. The moment you express yourself along the lines of themes that don't involve some kind of victory, apparently, you become a whiner.

[2] However strongly you shout that you are an agent who can work independently of others' opinions of you, those opinions are still major determinants of your success, otherwise advertising is really a billion- dollar waste of money.        

[3] I'm sorry: one of the changes that has come over me, since my recent discovery that Tina Turner was right all along when she sang about love in 1984, was that I've picked up an acquisitive streak that is totally at odds with my generally hippie personality. I've realized that I have to care about wealth, and to that end,  to keep schmoozing if I don't want to spend the rest of my productive years working in a call center, or as an indentured slave for Korean English language training centers looking for quality educators on the cheap.

[4] I would have been happy if it had just accomplished just one of those things.