It doesn’t matter how much I attempt to sequester myself, I’m always found and I’m always led back. Take for example, the connections I’ve made on Twitter.
I embraced the geek-toy with exuberance to follow my favorite Tweeter still: Warren Ellis.
I mean the guy is amazingly refreshing, considering how crude and vulgar he gets. But he’s fucking brilliant, every little tidbit he writes just totally speaks to you, you know?
Off track, as is my custom.
My network spans from published authors, to soon-to-be-pubbed authors, to writing hopefuls, to musicians, historians, and developers. It’s strange: For the first time in my life practically, I am defined.
I’m a writer. So what. It isn’t my career and I’m not to the point of being desperate to be seen in print. But the journey is such a sweet experience. To be told by professionals in the business that I should be published is heart-wrenchingly terrifying.
So, let’s recap: By being afraid of people, I’ve amassed an audience.
By not caring who thought what of what I write, I’ve gotten enthusiasts. I hesitate to call them fans. I’ll let them toot their own horns.
And now, for the hell of it, I’m looking to make a vampire Spaghetti Cabellero Mexican Pulp Fictiony Quentin-tribute novel.
I had to stop and think outside the box, the keyboard, even my own head.
Hey guys, we’re CREATORS.
We make stuff up that has never existed before. Holy shit, that is DEEP.
I started shaking. And then, I picked up my notebook and called Xan home.