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For a minute there, I lost myself.

To quote the Radiohead song ‘Karma Police’.

Last night, I was sitting up past midnight writing this blog post, having just surfaced from an episode of seriously ugly crying. Its the pandemic. Its the hate crime. It all hit me all at once, and not for the first time.

Since the 2020 shit show began, I have tried so hard to stay positive, to keep creating if for no other reason than to keep my own spirits up. Even if nobody cared what I was doing. Even if the news I shared with my followers about my writing and publishing progress was drowned out by world events. I wrote to cling to some sense of normality and purpose. Last night, I felt hopeless, and briefly lost sight of why I was writing.

I gave into the feelings that trying to pursue these creative goals was pointless. I’m smashing my goals, and I’m getting my books back into distribution. But the whole world is so distracted that doing these things sometimes feels like an act of ignorance. That by trying to continue to strive to reach my creative goals, I’m somehow in denial about the state of the world. That I shouldn’t be trying to draw people’s attention away from the current social issues we face by sharing my personal successes and progress.

Like so many other creatives (lets face it, all creatives) I have struggled with a sense that my creations are pointless right now. From pandemics to hate crimes, there so much uncertainty. People are distracted, mentally and emotionally exhausted, myself included. I’d like to think my stories provide people with an escape from reality, but do they really want the escape that I want to provide? Do they feel as guilty about escaping reality through reading as much as I feel guilty about enabling their escapism through my writing?

After writing all this down, my tears had calmed and my eyes were heavy and tired. It was nearly 1am, and I realized something again that I realized at the start of the pandemic. Something I monetarily forgot in the overwhelming sense of hopelessness. And what I realized is this.

At the core, my writing is for me. The simple act of writing lifts my spirits even when publishing feels pointless. So I will keep writing, no matter what. Whether the world pays attention or not.

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