Once upon a time, in a grand but decaying house far from anywhere there lived a young girl. She had once been happy, but the last several years she found herself increasingly at the mercy of her wicked stepmother and her two silly and abusive stepsisters.
So begins, more or less, the story of Cinderella. Some versions begin a bit earlier, when Ella was happy, but all of them reach this point sooner or later, where the poor, unfortunate soul, pure and deserving, but cast off, receives divine intervention to be able to go to the King's Ball.
This is the best part of the story, for me. Out of mice and a pumpkin (and, in the most recent film, a couple of lizards), Cinderella is provided with a carriage and horses and footmen, and a grand dress for going to the ball. You know the rest, which to me isn't interesting. But I like the ball, and the stroke of midnight, because I often feel that way myself.
Last week I was a presenter at one of the western US's best-attended writing conferences. It drew luminaries like James Dashner (Maze Runner, etc.), Brandon Sanderson (if I have to introduce him, you're reading the wrong blog), and Allie Condie (Matched, etc.), among voluminous others. I, on the other hand, am no one at all, and being faculty at this event was, for me, very much like being invited to the King's Ball.
I felt like at any moment the clock could strike twelve and someone would shout, "What is he doing here!", and out I would go, back to where I came from, to wait and study some more. That fit. I am a student, except this time I was also a teacher. It was the fulfillment of what I very much though might be a dream. But instead of dreaming, I asked for it, knowing I wouldn't be given a chance. Surprise! One of the organizers turned out to be a fairy godmother.
In my class, I talked about Steemit as a part of a broad, financially diverse income stream from writing. I included such other things as magazine articles, creative nonfiction, Patreon, Inkshares, etc. I've made a fair living over the last few years as a working writer, very little of it from fiction, but writing nonetheless, whatever you call it. It was a good class and I was proud of it.
I did have to point out that I have no idea how Steemit works. I can tell you about the blockchain, about cryptocurrencies in general, and about how content is rewarded on Steemit. What I can't tell you is WHY some posts are rewarded and others aren't, or why, for instance, my first twenty posts averaged about $23 per post and my last fifteen have averaged $.38, with none of them cracking a dollar. Even at .50 per post, if I post every day, I'll make almost $200 a year, but at a dime?
Still, I can't control that. All I can do is produce quality content for people to discover. I can upvote and resteem posts I find worthy, and I can follow authors that do good work. After that, none of it is in my control. I resist being disappointed (sometimes even successfully), when things don't work out.
I talked a lot about that. I'm a big fan of Marcus Aurelius, and think that his Meditations is one of the great books of the world. Aurelius said, "You have power over your mind--not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength." As an author, I sometimes write material that I think is pretty good. Often, that material is not received well by those with whom I share it. I can choose, as Jennifer Neilsen (The False Prince, etc.) said this weekend, how to react to this drop down the crevasse. I can choose to stay there, to quit, or I can take the rope and climb.
Either way, I have no control over the results of my actions, only over the actions themselves. I exhorted the twenty or so attendees in my class to take action, not just in the normal ways (pitching agents, querying publishers, etc.) but also in ways others either don't know about (Steemit) or are afraid to try (Patreon, contests, etc.). Doing so gives you the maximum scope for your abilities and the best chance that luck will strike, because although I admire the stoics, I also believe in luck.
I believe in fairy tales. I believe in Cinderella. And I don't think that Marcus Aurelius and Cinderella are incompatible. I would not--I do not--rely on a fairy godmother to get me to the ball. I'll walk if I have to. But if such a godmother appears and waves her wand, I will go to the ball, and while I'm there, I will dance every dance and I'll drink the punch and eat the cookies and openly gape in wonder at the splendor of the place, because midnight will come. I don't want to say, when it does, that I forgot to have a good time because I was worried about the clock.
One last illustration of this. Tonight we had a birthday party at my parents' house. Most of my siblings were there, with their own volumes of children (I have eight, myself). Toward the end, I found myself at the table with two of my sisters and the substantial remains of a massive chocolate cake between us. They were picking at it with their forks, and saying, "You know, I really shouldn't eat this. In an hour, I know I'll regret it." And I said, "No, you don't." They said they were pretty sure they did know. But they kept picking at the cake.
I said, "Either eat the cake and enjoy it, or put the fork down. But if I were you, I'd keep eating, and do it with relish, because an hour from now you have no idea what things will be or not be. It would be a shame to have this delicious cake in front of you and regret eating it because you were worried about a thing that might not happen."
The cake didn't stand a chance.
I love writing, of all kinds. I have novels and short stories and, yes, fairy tales. I'll keep writing them, here, there, and everywhere, because that's what I can do to get to the castle with a permanent invitation, but when I get invited to the King's Ball, nobody there will have a better time than I do. No matter how long it lasts.