As in my fiftieth blog post, not a reflection of law enforcement confrontations or that annual celebration of older—further from birth, closer to death, whatever.
I wanted this blog post to be a milestone of sorts, so I'd been giving it some thought. And I'm sitting here in the chaise lounge on my front porch, watching the dark clouds roll through, sporadic cloudbursts of rain interspersed with the spring-happy chirping of a hundred birds. And the rotor sound of the occasional Blackhawk. Contemplating the parallels and the bigger picture. The past few days have been a strange culmination of my writing lethargy as of late.
Father of All Things was the reason this blog was born. The first steps into creating public visibility of myself, and while there's plenty of room for expansion, improvement and optimization here…this will do, for now. At heart, I'm a simple person. Despite my predilection for convoluted ramblings. This is my first foray into the nitty-gritty of publishing. And while I'm feeling my way around on this journey, getting a sense for the interactions, relationships, and players…much of the rest I can see clearly.
Whether those that deal or interact with me from a professional standpoint realize this or not is vague at best. It's not as if I've gone out of my way to detail just what my education is, or how much I have of it. Application through experience of the hands-on variety is given greater weight and respect, and therein—for the time being—lies my greatest weakness. My education, insight, and understanding are moot.
I have no preexisting author brand, cultivated with blood sweat and tears. Does it bother me when I lend someone my lapis amulet and they slap red paint on it to match their attire better? Why certainly it does. I'd say it makes no sense to borrow something other than what you're really after. Better to showcase the assets than to cover them up and try to hawk them off as something less than what they are. Stage jewelry is, after all, rather easily acquired.
As it stands, the novel's release date marks its birth. Or close to it. That has meaning for me. As much as the novel itself, very much a labor of love. It has grown and matured over the course of the past nine months. Gestation and rebirth, perhaps?
Business models, managerial proficiency, marketing strategies, subcontractor relations, and excessive legalese. So often the artistry gets trampled beneath the feet of professionalism and the march to acquire more, more, more of the almighty dollar.
I don't care too much for money, money can't buy me love. Or respect. Or honesty. Or integrity.
I'm a people-watcher, not prone to engaging in socialization. I'd rather sit and observe. And attempt to deduce an answer for the question, "how do you define your ethics and priorities?" The influence of one too many psychology electives, perhaps, but Sun Tzu is the one whose philosophy was functionally Know yourself and know your enemy…and know victory.