Remedy Ink has been gracious enough to offer to publish my first book, a collection of short stories. I am very excited and nervous. I used to be nervous that the stories weren’t very good, but now that I’ve immersed myself in them as much as I have, I am quite sure they’re good (I’ll acknowledge that all are different and will be regarded as more or less good than one another). In fact, when VV first proposed the idea, I had to go pull most of the stories out of a folder I titled “Probably Suck.” But they don’t. I don’t think so. You might.

And that’s what I’m nervous about. Maybe. Not quite. It will hurt if you don’t like them. But I’m used to people not liking me (and my stories are, of course, me and I will take every negative and positive thing said entirely too personally, but I’m aware of that) and have the perfectly unhealthy, but adequate defense mechanism of hating you right back in place.

What I’m not prepared for and don’t know how to handle or prevent, is no one caring. No one reading. Which will most likely happen. I’m aware of that. I know how many Twitter followers I have. I see how many people read this blog. I know my mom has more Facebook friends than me. I’ve always been a bit alone and have come to kind of accept that, or at least realize that’s who I am, but my stories feel different. Especially if they’re good. If they’re good, then you should read them, you should get to have that privilege (seeing as no one likes me (myself included), it’s kinda strange that I’ve managed to develop a self-righteous God-complex, huh?). I want you to see this, to read my stories.

But I don’t want to bring myself to the forefront of your brain. I hate talking about myself. On some level, this is why no one likes me (there’s the abrupt abrasiveness too). I don’t talk about myself and what I do, so I kinda don’t exist. Why take time caring about someone who doesn’t exist? I understand that. Acknowledging that I might be worth something kills me. It’s so hard for me. It’s going to take so much effort for me to post something on Facebook about the book, to build any knowledge of its existence. And when I finally do hit the post button, the post will be incredibly self-deprecating and turn off anyone’s interest immediately.

What’s wrong with me? Why do I want to be heard and not want to talk? Can the one person who reads this do me a favor and spread the word about Scenic Utah, out soonish in ebook format please? Thanks.

On a completely tangential note, Refused is so good. I always knew it, but I’m listening to The Shape Of Punk To Come on Spotify and it’s awesome. I really liked a follow-up project called Text for a while too. Gonna have to recheck that out. Maybe I suggest it.

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Tags: Book, Refused, Remedy Ink, Scenic Utah, Short Story