I mean, I know I write good stuff. I’m ahead of the curve, I’m dedicated, I’m interesting, I’m on Stumbleupon, Digg, Reddit, you name it, but no joy. I feel like I’m doing the equivalent of jumping up and down, waving my arms around and screaming, but I’m one voice on one rock in the middle of a massive ocean of humanity that moves in huge, ten-million man strong waves, surging toward everything but what I’m doing or what I’m interested in.
I know I’m not the only person out there who’s having this experience, and I know that I’m not the worthless excuse for a human being that the occasional person out there tries to convince me that I am (heck, read the other entries of my blog– you’ll see. It’s all me here) but right now I feel like even if I suddenly plastered every page I could get my hands on with pictures of my backside, the only person who would notice would be some guy back at Google who wouldn’t really care, but would be obligated to respond by casually (in a very sterile, detached manner) clicking some magic button that would disable my adsense account and send me the form letter equivalent of a coup-de-grace, effectively obliterating the meager fistful of ad revenue I’ve garnered (but of course have no access to– got to wait until it hits the $100 mark!) for attracting almost 100,000 people to my collective pages over the last couple of years.
I know writing isn’t about money, but it shouldn’t be about starving or taking a second job while you bust your butt trying to find that one magic topic that the world will fall upon in its fickle way either. With as many people as there are out there on the internet, is it really so much to ask to be heard?
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