Camels with weak backs and the straws that put them in traction.

Originally written Dec. 8th.  I’m purging posts in order to start the new year off a little less cluttered with the angst that has had me so under the emotional “weather” this year.  I’m starting 2015 with a renewed approach to my blog and my writing overall. Meanwhile, I have a few drafts I’d like to go ahead and publish before the year ends. Feel free to skip them.


It was an announcement to attend a virtual workshop that did me in.  Or rather, it was the organizer’s polite response to my unnecessary response to the invitation that did me in.  The subject line in the mass email – “Dana, I want to help you write your book”.  Click on the email and there is a pitch for a tele-summit entitled, “So you wanna be an author – NOW WHAT?”


There was absolutely NOTHING wrong with this email.  So why did I fire back, “I’m already a published author, albeit, self-published.  It is an indescribable feeling for sure.  :-)”  I’ll tell you why.  Hopefully you’ve got a few minutes; this is going to take a while.
A combination of life events, both personal and in society as it festers across the globe, has left me feeling tired on an emotional scale I’ve not felt since my great depression of ’86 – ’91.  There were weeks during that time period where I spent upwards of 72 hours straight in my bed.  I was passively suicidal. That same, energy sucking feeling settled on my bones earlier this year and has been getting progressively worse.  I gave up television, social media, and most recently my book writing and publishing business.  I kept putting one foot in front of the other because I was still in the grip of being a responsible parent. Well, my fledgling has spread her wings and is now out in the world learning to navigate the winds of life – she doesn’t need me nearly to the extent that she did just a month ago and quite frankly it’s been a ‘Bilbo against Smaug’ level battle to not turn in my resignation and just crawl into a box in an alley somewhere (south of course) to begin practicing for dead.
My usual voices, the personalities I share my head with, have been silent for I don’t know how long. My Muse and My Divinity have made a few voice overs here and there, but even they don’t seem to be in residence much anymore. Instead, my demons have had full reign. I’ve been deluged with their chatter; they’ve let my fears grow to irrational size.  I have returned to that feeling that I don’t matter so nothing I do matters.
Hence allowing my impulsiveness to run amok. It made me angry that here was this person who doesn’t even know me, who doesn’t know that I wrote, produced, and stared in my first play when I was 12; who doesn’t know that I’ve been a writer since I was 10; that I wrote and PUBLISHED (even own the ISBNs) FOUR books in as many years…this person wants to help me write a book. But that’s what I do – I help people take their ideas and turn them into finished works of printed art. Or at least that’s what I want to do. It seems no one I’ve worked with so far is as excited or motivated about that as I am (or was) so consequently, they don’t sign up for more than two or three sessions, and they don’t end up finishing their books, let alone making it all the way to self-published so of course, my credibility in that area (as far as I’m concerned) is nil.  I wanted this person to KNOW that I didn’t need their tele-summit. That I AM AN AUTHOR, damn it!! I wanted to be recognized. I wanted something I’d done to matter to someone other than just me.  They responded to my email with a polite, somewhat encouraging note: “That’s beautiful. Proud of you– you are rocking it!! 🙂 2015 is our year… xoxo.”
I don’t know why but I read the response and saw my original email as snarky and completely unnecessary. Much like my speaking up these days in general; much like my road rage; much like my casting my vote, taking the high road, treating others as I want to be treated…not one action seems to have made a bit of difference in my life or anyone else’s.  I feel as if I need to apologize to them for pointing out my inconsequential news.
I feel the need to apologize for wanting to matter at all. But you see the circular nature of this don’t you? I don’t matter, so my apology won’t matter, so best to lie down for a while, let the muscles in my back and shoulders relax for a bit, and keep myself to myself.

One thought on “Camels with weak backs and the straws that put them in traction.

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