Illusions Shattered- (The Lucid Dream unpicked).( a recent post, somewhat interrupted by a death)
Yesterday I was shown, unequivocally, that I do not exist. Two years banging pots together in the internet kitchen has not resulted in so much as a snack, or a quick-fix salad. And I thought I was making progress!
This was brought home by reading a newly discovered Author’s blog. Nicholas C.Rossis
who seems to have worked out exactly how to make Amazon #1 and who shares his ‘how’ most generously (including a down-loadable Amazon category list and analysis). He manages to swim, write, teach and run a company, with the marketing hand behind his back (except to provide good fodder for informative posts.)
The reason, I now realise, is that nothing I do links up with anything else: For gold or even coal you need to use a drill. Instead I have broadcast seed on stony ground. SEO? Nada. Focus? Undefined. Blog posts? No use to anyone; nothing practical; no lists, to do’s or useful don’ts. Diversions round a road block. Platform? Still in stacked plank mode, warping in the rain of neglect.
All because I hate to sell but love to engage. The good news (I was assured) is ‘You have not spoiled your first impression, because you have not made one!’
I have a few good friends but friends do not a platform make. Nor do professional reviews, articles commissioned, awards awarded. Peanuts to the pantosphere.
Decision? Give up or start again? Find nails? Find hammer? Or write another book with nowhere to stand it either, when it’s born.
I return to the lucid dream ( The Market of the Mind in Common) which gave both warning and possibly some explanations, but no remedies, or none useful for me, or none I can identify, except ‘not this way.’ (This post is wide open for suggestions) Yes, it told me what I already knew. ALL MY FAULT. Another comment suggested that EVERYBODY IS YOU. (Well my book is about that too, unity of consciousness- all in it together, the Akasha et al) But the clever dream is what I’m talking about. It proves my book if proof were needed. The integration of all with all, including these marvellous things called ‘words’.
Let me list the components of that dream. (See, I too can do lists if I put my mind to it.)
Conference– To confer (OED ‘Bring together, gather, collect, take counsel’)
I have attended quite a few. They try to cosset with serene luxury, rooms in pleasing tones, the better to focus on whatever is on the agenda. They are attended by people who mostly know exactly what to expect; to find others who know what to expect, and to congratulate each other on finding exactly what they paid (a lot)for. Frightening the horses is disapproved of (as is ending sentences with prepositions.)
I always frighten horses, not intentionally, but I seem to manage it even when I remain silent. I know this, so…
I arrived late and sat apart. ( OED late= ‘weary, after the proper time, at an advanced stage’)
This was noticed and disapproved of. Arriving on time and joining is expected. All definitions apply to an old woman attempting to join the society of self publishing authors, and rather ashamed of plugging books that have no useful purpose, just stories across all genres, or sans genre entirely. Instead I went …
In search of an individual person to talk to.
The search through empty rooms provided prestigious works hung too high to see properly, including Barbara Hepworth (who a kind commentator of the dream told me had already anticipated what would follow by painting women taking tea). My aspiration to create something worthy of that company was obviously doomed. Another on line friend has suggested immortality is a vain aspiration. Why don’t I keep it simple? This post is keeping it pretty simple. Unpacking a full suitcase ( lots of clothes) and busy arranging them on hangers was…
I have approached many priests (metaphorically speaking). Some who wore dog-collars and other academics who wore gowns, all busy busy with their suitcases and excited about Burns night (OED burn= a stream; brook; a mark, from fire; a state of activity; passionate; consumed with emotion.) I have given perhaps a hundred books to such people, many professing interest. One (a prestigious Oxford ‘Fellow’- not hail met) asked to be given ‘priority’ before it was published. He required it in hard copy (420 A4 pages) and posted to Scotland with return postage for a ‘window of opportunity’ during a holiday ‘next month’. Sixty quid and four months later he regretted he would not ‘be able to find the time to read it- or even to return it!) The dream simply reminded me of affiliates to any strict doctrine: Much too important for common courtesy.
That bit I already knew, but am sometimes in danger of forgetting. Hypocrisy is a heavy word but I always assume people who profess interest really mean it, and might want to share, consider, amend, discuss. That’s because I know ideas find us, and they do not belong to anyone. What Involution is about is how this happens- and those to whom it happens are those who forget themselves altogether. Not many do. So after the brush off from the priestly caste I made my way to…
The Tea Party (OED- tea= infusion in boiling water/ not for all the tea in China…Boston tea party…)
I was unwelcome and boiled about that. First chopped up for shortcomings (arriving late, sitting aside, expecting to join in) and then triumphantly squeezed out for a satisfying brew. I had not ‘registered’ ( OED register= formally set down; cause to be entered; having eligibility; make an impression.)
Yesterday I took stock. After the death of my dog and the death of my illusions that Google had amplified by listing me when I inquired how I was doing (Google is a false friend, tells you only what it knows you want to hear) I was advised to try www. duckduckgo instead.
Quack Quack. Neither I nor my books (everywhere in every format) exist. What was that parable about a tortoise? Should be extinct.
IN case you’d like to colour in a living dinosaur there is a free download of the First Canto of Involution to be had here