I have been wandering aimless for quite long enough! Although my reasons have been valid and understandable, I have, in recent months, fallen by the proverbial wayside.
A year ago, the arrow of my intent was aimed securely at the bulls-eye of published author success. I had published five books, had held several book selling and signing events. I had a clear vision of my books being out in the world, attracting diverse readers, giving pleasure, making me if not wealthy at least comfortably off.
Then I took my eye off the target, became fixated by other things and other people. I conformed to my usual pattern: Terrified of owning actual tangible success, I procrastinated, let myself become a carer, a helper, a listener, a big sister, a mother. I put my own needs, desires, wants, creative growth to one side as if my arrow of intent were, in some way, flawed, not worth the nock of the string, the pull-back of the bow, the loosing of belief and self-confidence upon that colourfully-ringed target.
My attitude of, ‘Oh, I mustn’t trouble anyone with what I want! I am unworthy! Genuflect! Genuflect!’ has been utterly unnecessary and counter-productive.
Of course my books are worth reading! I wouldn’t have published the damn things had I not believed in them! I would not have given up a well-paid, secure teaching job to be a writer in the first place if I hadn’t thought I had a gift for writing!
But I have consistently sold myself short, both as a person and as a writer. I have, to continue the archery metaphor, used toy arrows which break easily, are shoddy and cheap. That is to say, my ability to project myself into success has been nullified by a fundamental inability to believe that anyone would want me, as Alienora, or my books unless I used the Special Offer as some kind of lure. Unless, that is to say, I were prepared to agree to a bargain, money off, a gift in return.
The fact that I am self-published does not mean I lack talent. The fact that I am not the world’s best marketer does not invalidate the worth of what I have written.
I do not have to sell my soul in order to be loved. Those who have true value will love me as I am regardless – and DO.
Aimless no longer, I am re-siting my target – in the heady meadows of success and recognition – and have crafted the very best bow out of fire and passion, love and energy, belief and inspiration. The arrows – rare, high-quality, fashioned from all that is best in me – lie in their embroidered quiver, ready to be fired.
Watch the tension of the strings, the muscles standing out in my arms; look at the warm blue of the sky, the buttery sun spreading on landscape’s perfectly cooked ‘bread’; watch me aim – and hear the wind whistling like a tune through a Bard’s harp as the arrow, free now from restraint, begins its journey…