As a Writer, What If I Am Just Average?

On WordPress, I continue to be amazed by the collection of talent. Sometimes an author’s writing floors me with its power, cleverness, raw emotion or beautiful use of language.

I am none of those things. I am a nerd who can correctly string together a series of words. As a writer–as a word artist–I am average.

How then do I expect to compete in the commercial marketplace? The same way an average employee competes in the workplace. By showing up. By giving my best effort. And like a tidal wave, by sheer volume. A dose of self-promotion is important, too. If I don’t market, I won’t sell. (Please don’t stop reading here. The best of this post is yet to come.)

I’ve said this before and I will say it again: throw enough at a wall and something will stick.

Part of succeeding as an average writer is finding my audience. I do that by writing in all the ways that appeal to me–short stories, haiku, flash fiction and novels. (In 2013, I hope to add internet content to the list.) Then I analyze. Of those things I like to write, what are people reading?

I need to look at my statistics. What do statistics tell me about what readers like in my work? Is it my true confessions? Is it self-improvement or how-to articles? Pop culture? Or factual pieces? Humorous stories? The off-the-wall?

Success is finding the match of my abilities with a need in the marketplace.

Ask the reader.

So I am asking you right now. What do you like best about this blog? Why do you stop by? Is there something which you’d like to see more often? Any answer is a helpful one. Silence hurts. So tell me something, anything, that will make this blog a better experience for you. Even if it is what you don’t like. Say, “Fay, dump this. Keep that.” Bring it on. Help me get better.

For me, that’s what it is all about. The best part is serving, helping, pleasing you, the reader.

The next best part is getting good enough to earn a paycheck! But that’s another post for another day.  🙂

Grieving Today. . .and Tomorrow

Last night I sold a good friend. Today I am grieving.

My husband is no longer able to ride. His horse has been in the field, unused, for two years– the period of time during which Hubby has had both knees replaced and his heart rebuilt.  The companion to his horse is Sugar Baby, an ancient but healthy mare that was my riding horse until last year, when she tore a muscle in a field accident.

During the course of Sugar Baby’s recovery, I bought a Racking Horse named Jake to ride. Jake is gaited and riding him is easier on my battle-worn body — I have a history of multiple falls from horseback, so my body is beat-up and sore.

But Sugar Baby will always be the best horse I ever had the privilege to ride. She and I were so well matched that she seemed to read my mind. She always did what was asked of her and always took care of me, her rider. On mornings, she would  stand in her spot at the fence and stare toward the front door of the house. The minute she saw movement, she would neigh, asking for breakfast. When I worked around the barn, Sugar usually supervised, nickering softly when I talked to her.

In these erratic times, we are like many other households in the United States. We have our own economic downturn going on in our personal finances. At the end of October, a reckoning of accounts demanded austerity. Logic dictated that two horses that were going unused must go.

Maintaining a horse is expensive. Beyond the cost of food and shelter, there are farrier, vet and grooming expenses. Not to mention winter blankets and the like.

So the mares were sold.

I don’t have the attachment to my husband’s horse Missy that I do to Sugar Baby. Even in advanced age, she is beautiful in my eyes. And she caught the eye of someone else. I find peace that she has a home. But I am grieving that she’s gone.

 

 

 

Rough Day at the Hospital

According to the cardiac surgeon, thirty percent of open heart surgery patients experience arrhythmia after surgery. Wouldn’t you know, hubby is one of those. Today his heart would not come into rhythm on its own, choosing instead to skip beats or beat too fast. Finally, his heart just stopped when the nurses were trying to get him on his feet. He zonked. The nurse screamed–literally–for help. Six medical staff grabbed parts of him and heaved him onto the bed. Hubby’s heart restarted on its own. He came to and looked around, confused by the hubbub surrounding him. After the surgeon, the hospitalist and a consulting cardiologist conferred, hubby was attached to an external pacemaker.

“This thing is shocking me,” he told me in a quiet moment, sometime later. Guess what, darling? That means your heart has stopped beating and the machine is keeping it ticking. Shocks mean it’s working.

The day ended better than it started, when hubby’s heart decided to go rogue at 4 A.M. By 4 P.M., he felt better, looked better and was regaining his composure.

We’ll see what tomorrow holds.

Thanks to all of you who are praying, thinking about us, or supporting us in some way. You are our lifeblood in this moment. You are priceless.

People that I Meet

About a week ago, I was reading Coco Ginger’s blog, specifically her post about her French press. In the post she referenced treating every guy she meets as a potential character in her next story.

That sentiment hit me like a sledge-hammer:  I, too, look at people I meet as candidates for characters. How dreadful. How delightful. It is a conundrum.

How about you? Are you eyeing up acquaintances, family and friends — and dreadful bosses — as novel fodder?