Writing is a life of solitude. I don’t want it to be, and I’m often disappointed that it turns out that way, but it’s not a unique refrain among writers.
When I write, I’m usually listening to hard rock through headphones. The entirety of Under the Sunflowers was written to In This Moment. Not because I love them that much, but because they block out everything else. Many of these blog posts are written to The Pretty Reckless. The whole point is tuning everything out.
But when I’m finished, when I’m past the first few drafts, I want impressions from people I can trust. And yet, the ones you trust most are often the least suitable.
I reached out to reader friends. I reached out to close friends. I reached out to family. The experience is disappointing at best, painful at worst. Mostly because they don’t show if they care. They won’t give you time or serious attention. They can be serious readers, people who finish a book a day, but they won’t give you four or five hours of their time across a month. And it is disappointing.
Spend enough time with writers and almost all of them have this experience. We’re not all as lucky as someone like Stephen King, who has a wife dedicated to helping him become a better writer.
That’s not to say I was bereft of critical feedback. I did receive some, and it helped. But in the end, I had to be my own worst critic, which, thankfully, I can do in a measured, non-deprecating way. And I accept that. It’s why transactional writing groups exist.
But my disappointment is tenfold now that I’ve put this project out there publicly.
I have one person I’m close to who’s spared time to look over this site. One. My disappointment doesn’t stretch to people I know casually. This isn’t aimed at someone I met in a bar or worked with ten years ago.
I’ve spent close to 1000 hours of my time between writing and revising my story and building this site. It is the most dedicated I have ever been to a single project that I can share. And when it comes to close family and friends, people whose presence would be like showing up to my gig, my recital, my wedding, or my graduation, no one has even put their foot in the door to see what it looks like. So, it feels more like a funeral. And this lack of even cursory support isn’t surprising.
That’s why it’s my job, my looming goal, to earn ten readers who care. Because finding ten real readers, ten fans, is enough to know I’m reaching someone that cares. Not to aggrandize myself. But to earn time, and hopefully, some feedback. That’s the best payment anyone can give me.
If you ever want to be one of those ten fans, here’s what I ask.
- Read up to at least the end of Part two of my novel (not possible until July 26).
- You like my novel enough to want to see another.
- You’re not afraid to tell me what you don’t like.
- You don’t know me personally.
- You have donated $5.00 to one of the charities.
- You don’t have to give me money.
- You’re over 18.
If you fit these, please write me and tell me what you think at author@jadarkling.com.