because here's the thing.
my work has value
i would like to think.
i am trying to get myself to think, with greater consistency, in a wider variety of scenarios.
one problem: more and more when i come here, it's to prove to myself that neither of these things are true.
because i don't believe anyone is reading. not really. nobody acts like they do.
except: cognitive dissonance a go-go.
i know it, you know it.
someone is reading.
so: i matter to you
my work has value to you.
even if you're hate reading, this is true.
but i don't think you're hate reading, not really. yes, there are random drive-bys, one of them quite recent, and and one long-time regular who occasionally feels the need to remind me that yes, i am still as awful as i am wrong, about everything, but know what? if they're choosing to be someone who weaponizes their attention in this way, that's ultimately the world they are making for themselves and themselves alone. and hey, don't doubt it! alone is what they'll continue to be. they've earned it. i have nothing to do with the self-injury compulsions of hate readers. never have, never will.
another problem: a growing number of desirable venues will not take writing that has been published in any form anywhere else. this includes, very explicitly, personal blogs.
i hope you understand why this a problem for me, and why it's turned this venue, originally intended to be a space where i could experiment and dialogue, into something of a sinkhole of resources for which i am not being compensated. certainly not monetarily, though this has always been the case and for the majority of my time here, this hasn't been a problem.
the problem: i am no longer being compensated with community. community was a big factor in my decision to be so free with my work here, my work that has value,* because i value community. sharing my writing for interaction and connection with my readers and other artists was an incredible bounty for which i am still grateful.
but community is no longer one of livejournal's strong points.
so here's a potential solution i have decided to try out.
i'm going to put a "donate" button on my homepage and at the bottom of every post. i'd like to get enough to cover writing submission fees and maybe (maybe) the occasional contest (though i'm half past done o'clock with writing contests and... that might be a rant i need to sidestep right now) ...and i suspect it would be empowering, as well as motivating, to be able to fund that with the readership i know exists here. please know i ain't talking like, OMG sums. i'm talking like, $5, $10 bucks. enough so i could maybe splurge on a slightly fancier notebook, or not agonize for three months over ordering a book i think might be helpful with therapy stuff, or not have to refuse a promising submission opportunity because i can't afford the reading fee.
i have a couple other ideas, but i'm still researching. if you aren't in a place to throw a few dollars my way, i absolutely get it. i wouldn't be able to contribute monetarily either, and i've been in that situation for the better part of four years. i feel for you, but also know you could do just as much toward helping this feel a little less like a hole in the ground into which i endlessly scream by suggesting some ideas, or just carving out the occasional "kilroy was here" in the comments. i miss comment threads so much.
i hope i will receive something and anticipate that i will, but if i don't? then i have my answer for how much this content is valued and will need to redirect my energies accordingly.
here's hoping. solstice blessings, either way. to a better 2021.
*apologies for the repetitions: the idea that my work has value is something i am trying to get myself to understand more than extraneously, with words that are not simply the cracked husks of seeds harvested for another's nourishment. it is a complicated matter, as i've used the idea of my fundamental worthlessness to justify a great deal of abuse, exploitation and abandonment over the course of my life. as it turns out, i was roughly as angry about the mechanisms in my life forcing me to do this as i was the injuries themselves, so the whole situation? is overwhelming, overwhelming to the extent of my bottom lip perpetually chewed bloody over simple affirmations that should have never been made to feel so ugly and unreasonable, why can't i believe that my work has value? why is that idea so dangerous? and, wait, no apologies for repeating myself. if i don't repeat myself, i'm not going to hear it, and i need to hear it. it's the way my brain works. i love the way my brain works. i matter. my work has value. i matter. my work has value. why am i always blowing out my tires apologizing for other people's intolerance instead of doing the things i need to do?