A short passage of prose in response to the charge that writers are only marketing and not engaging with their readers

I saw a thread recently on a kindle forum about writers not interacting with their readers enough. I forget which one it was—I’ll have to remember to bookmark them in future. But my writing alter ego couldn’t help but conjure up a short scene to illustrate the indie author’s problem.

Ann-Marie packed her bags this morning and stomped out of the house, dragging the children behind her, for the final time she said. I ran outside in my pyjamas and stood in front of the car, pleading with her to stay.

‘I think the next novel will be a hit, and it’ll all be fine,’ I said.

‘Well you can tweet that to your friends,’ she said as she threw her bags into the vehicle and ushered the children inside.

I knew what she was referring to. Three nights before I had rolled off her whilst making love, so that I could send three tweets to satisfy the early evening surfers in the West Coast time zone. Then when I returned to continue she turned her rigid back to me and feigned sleep, but I sensed her morbid frown. She doesn’t understand me, but I know you my readers do. I had also risen at five to post for my antipodean friends, wrote for two hours before leaving for eight hours at the office, ate my dinner whilst editing the previous ten pages, then stayed up until one so that I could connect with potential East Coast fans. I know you all understand me.

‘Look how happy we were when I got my first Amazon cheque,’ I reminded her.

‘Yes, that $23 lasted all of five minutes,’ she recalled with a smirk, stomping on my brief elation.

‘Will you get out of my way so that I can leave.’

‘Will you wait a minute so that we can talk this out? I’ve plotted a new route to success.’

‘I’ve been waiting for twenty years, and I’m tired of this.’

‘It’s actually 19 years 9 months and 3 days,’ I said with fake indignation.

The timer on my watch beeped. I’d set it for five different time zones, to remind me when to blog, tweet or post. ‘Don’t you have something to do?’ she said, as though she could sense my nerves tingling at the lost prospect.

‘Could you give me a minute before you go,’ I said, ‘I have to connect with my Kindle forum pals, I don’t want to let them down.’


About georgehamilton

George Hamilton likes to know what’s going on around the world, to delve into the customs and practices of different cultures, and this is often a feature of his novels. His tales are based on people's intense personal or family dramas, with major social or political events strongly impacting their story. In addition to World Literature, he also writes multi-genre novels which include: Historical, Suspense/Thriller, and Contemporary. He currently lives in London, England.
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