I’ve been thinking about how some of the Indie writers on Facebook write about doing the giveaway of their ebooks on KDP, for only about two or three days at a time, to boost their sales somewhat, for a short period of time. They claim to have made some pretty good sales and turnover on their work thereafter, for several days running. Well, I’ve had my two best books up for free on Bookrix.com for at least a month now. I haven’t made one tenth as many sales with 37 titles on KDP, as a lot of other writers talk about making with just a small handful of titles, all told, after having used up just a few days of the giveaway period. Is anyone even looking at my freebies?
Is it that the idea of my honesty and openness about my disability is so odious to others, that I can’t sell my work, because people think I’ve got koodies or something? Give me a break. Having a chemical imbalance in the brain is not contagious. You inherit it genetically or you don’t get it. It’s not airborne. I’m not stupid. I do some very good work. I’m always practicing my craft.
Practice makes perfect, they used to tell me when I was a young, promising musician. I guess what I’ll try to do is to just keep on writing for my own amazement for awhile, and try not worry about circulation issues, no matter how heartbreaking it gets for me to look at blank pages and single digit sales on my dashboard at KDP, month in and month out. I’d like to think I’m writing for someone.
I’ve been putting a hundred percent into my writing for a long time now. I’ve put blood, sweat, and tears into my writing here on my blog. I’m working my backside off to come up with some half decent, medically accurate writing to inform the public about a wide spread illness that the world at large still has very little understanding of. Why won’t anyone read me? I use the King’s English, as they say, and don’t pepper my writing with vulgarity. I don’t write obscenities.
Is that the problem? I don’t write obscenities, and that’s what the world wants?
Haven’t you ever asked yourself why that guy on the street corner stands there all day in the most severe weather, with a cardboard sign on his chest, begging for money? I know why. It’s because Ronald Reagan canceled all the Federal social programs, and closed down all of the asylums and sanctuaries for the mentally ill in America. He didn’t even have any rationale why he did it. He just came on the TV, and talked about “trickle down economics,” which doesn’t make any sense, except to that one elderly mind with advancing dementia, who happened to be the President of the United States for awhile.
Well, the only thing that trickled down, economically, for any of us who used to utilize the Federal social programs, has been what we inherited from our own, personal elders in our own, personal families. Those guys on those street corners don’t have families with money. Ronald Reagan kicked us all out into the cold, because we are all so odious as to not be capable of holding down a “normal” job in this very high-stress society. We don’t get a piece of the American Dream, unless our personal relatives cut us out a piece of their personal portion of the American Pie, regardless of what our mental or physical health might or might not amount to.
The Woodstock Generation used up a lot of mental health, using all sorts of substances recreationally, and came down with drug addictions, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, etc, on a grand scale in our very vulnerable youth. We took a lot of the recreational chemicals that were popular, back when we were young and impressionable. A lot of us developed chronic illnesses in our minds doing that to ourselves, when it seemed everyone in our generation was doing that to themselves. It cost a lot of us our lives, if only costing us our educations and the possibilities of our marriages, because our minds have been ill for a lifetime, ever since taking recreational drugs, self-medicating.
Broughton State Hospital down in Dixieland, took care of me, way back when my mind was boggled with recreational chemicals for the first time, when I was still a university student as a young man. I was only twenty years old at the time. Every time I talked about taking my own life, I’d be put into another institution. Suicide ideation is one of the major symptoms of severe mental illness, which happens to be a barometer of how badly in need of medical care a patient happens to be.
The ER’s see people with suicide ideation frequently. The trick is, for us to recognize when we’re not feeling well in that way, and go ask for help when we get to the point where we need it. Mostly, when you’re in that kind of shape, they put you into the only temporary sanctuary we have left. A general hospital psych ward. To make matter’s worse, it’s so costly for general hospitals to maintain a psych ward, one hears of them closing down those facilities all the time. The result is having people loitering on street corners trying to get enough money to buy food.
There are a few ghost mental hospitals still open, after a fashion. There are a lot of Hippies and Flower Children who flipped out for our sins, way back in the 1960’s and the 1970’s, when they were young adults, who got two doctor’s certificates against their sanity a long time ago, and just never got out, to see the light of day, again. I got very close to that scenario myself, back when I was in my thirties, but managed to get sober and stay sober. After several months of sobriety they let me go.
I’ve been sober ever since.
Many of the acid heads and pot heads, who got a bad gene in their gene pool, ended up doing lifetime imprisonment in the state hospitals. They have no recourse to look to, for the light of day, ever again, as long as they live. If you might think there are no more drug addicts in America, in 2012, you have got to be remarkably naive. With all the recreational chemicals going around these days, it’s a wonder anyone in the country still has any sanity left, whatsoever.
The pushers catch the children in the schools, and God help us! We are in trouble.
If I were to write about murderers and rapists, Hollywood would beat my door down to publish me and put my stories on the TV, and in the movies, to boot. If I were to write about ghosts or goblins, ghouls or zombies, not to mention vampires, I’d be selling right and left. But I’m not. I’m writing about an honest to goodness, real live psychiatric diagnosis I’ve learned how to live with – and learned how to conquer, about as well as is humanly possible for an honest man to do in life.
I’m not a doctor, and I’m not a wild man. I’m a writer, recording a lifetime of personal field experience on a subject I’ve lived with for forty years. I’m doing this work about as well as any individual can, who might know what I’ve learned about schizophrenia, alcoholism and drug addiction. But no one wants to spend two seconds or $0.99 to hear me out. I don’t write about murder and rape, because I don’t have to. My life has been bad enough already. Sure, I happened to be an adult, sexually abused, mentally and physically abused child. But I don’t like to think about those things.
It gets me too upset.
I write like I write, and if you want more, go to my link, and buy my most comprehensive anthology of writing on this subject. It won’t cost you your home, like Reagan cost all of us.
In the mean time, I’ll share some links.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0082XK06Q (Mental Health Chronicles)