“We all live with the objective of being happy; our lives are all different and yet the same.” Anne Frank
Yes we all live to be happy, well most of us do. I know there was a time when I was happy. Now time and everything has stopped for me, or so I think. I know I have to keep going. I just have to keep forging ahead, no matter what. I have to persist. I look up the word in the Thesaurus.
Persistence: perseverance, determination, doggedness, diligence, pushiness.
Lately I have been trying to hide my existence to sort of escape from it. I want to somehow by some magic or miracle go someplace, be anywhere except where I am at this moment. I want to be transported into new worlds, and the only way to do that is through books. Books as Roald Dahl wrote:
“The books transported her into new worlds and introduced her to amazing people who lived exciting lives. She went on olden-day sailing ships with Joseph Conrad. She went to Africa with Ernest Hemingway and to India with Rudyard Kipling. She traveled all over the world while sitting in her little room in an English village.”
I can do that without even moving from my corner, in my room here in Montreal. Only literature can do that for me because to quote Fernando Pessoa:
“Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.”
Ignoring life. That’s what I have been doing lately. I look back and realize that it will soon be almost a decade that my first book was published. I haven’t published any fiction after that. I have published nonfiction, mainly collections of essays and articles, and I blog continuously. Yes. And I write and write and I persist and persist. But with everything that is going on in my life lately my persistence is beginning to wear on me.
Of all the writing I do I love writing fiction most but I cannot sell it. Maybe I am not pushy enough. I know I am not. I get envious of people who send me continuous messages asking me to buy their books, some politely, others insisting. I wish I could do that. I long for my stories and book to be read. I just don’t know how to promote myself. Or maybe I do but I am too shy to do it. And in this day and age it is only the bold who make it. And I so want to belong. Because to quote F. Scott Fitzgerald:
“That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.”