The Drunken Chronicles Episode 2

 I lingered in bed for so long this morning I almost missed Emma. We don't see each other much even though we live under the same roof. We do make it a point to have breakfast together whenever possible. Even though I'm at my best in the morning, I don't have any classes that start before 10:30 specifically for this reason. I get up early and write a bit while Emma cooks breakfast. We eat together and catch up, she goes to work while I clean up the kitchen and do any dinner prep before I leave for class. That's during fall and spring semester. It's summer. I spend my summers working for a local landscaping company.

“You're up, great. I almost missed you.” Emma said as she placed a platter of eggs and bacon on the table.

Toast popped up. I turned and reached out, pulling the warm bread from the toaster sitting on the counter behind me and tossed two pieces on to each plate.

“I read your thing,” she said.

Emma was fresh out of college. She was focused on work and men making her a sporadic reader. I'm always surprised to find out she read anything I wrote. It's a big deal if she feels the need to comment on it. “What thing?”

“The Drunken Chronicles.”

“Wow,” was the only response I could come up with.

Emma waits for me to continue.

“My content doesn't usually get viewed as quickly as it used to. Lately its been a surprise for me to have readers during the first 24 hours after anything goes live.”

“I thought most of the views came early on,” Emma said between bites.

“I don't follow that stuff anymore, I wouldn't know.” I responded, pushing my eggs around on my plate for a bit before I worked up the courage to ask “What did you think?”

“It's good writing. Your writing usually is. I was just wondering if that's the way you feel, like you're invisible?”

“I feel like the stories I write are.”

“Then why do you do it?”

I looked at my plate then looked at Emma.

“Seriously, if writing is as challenging, time consuming, you put so much of yourself into it, and it's not really acknowledged then why not quit?”

I looked at Emma for a moment before responding. “People say your best feature is your eyes, you think your feet look fat. Why don't you chop them off?”

“They're part of me. I need them to move.” She said.

“That's why I write. Even though what I’m doing is imperfect it's a part of me. I need to write in order to be who I am.”

“What’s up with this new thing? The Drunken Chronicles.”

I had to think about her question for a bit. I ended up responding with another question. “Do you know how many content creators exist online?” Emma shook her head. “Over 200 million world wide.

You see, writing fiction, essays, poetry, creating art, doing stand-up, making films or videos and posting them online is all considered content now. By doing what I’m doing right now I’m competing with over 200 million people. According to Google only 45 million of those people are making a good living wage with their content which means there are 155 million of us out there who are not.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“With traditional publishing my work may never be read. With this at least one or two people read my stories. And honestly, sad as it sounds, posting online still feels easier than traditional publishing.”

“It sounds like it's more difficult. A lot more difficult.”

“It is.” I admit.

“I like your stories.” Emma says. “If you keep insisting on banging your head against a wall by publishing online I'll keep reading. At the end of the day I guess you're not alone.”

“There are 155 million of us.” I looked at Emma and said, “One of the things about it that bothers me the most is if there are all these creators out there who aren't making a living doing this, who probably aren't getting many followers, why aren't more people talking about it?”

“They're too busy producing content?” She suggested as she stood up to leave the table. “You have a funny look on your face.” Emma observes.

“Knowing what I know about the publishing industry so far and online content creation, I keep asking myself if I should keep writing into the great void hoping for some ridiculous long shot to turn in my direction. Should I find what I hope is a reputable agent and do what they say? Do I forge a completely new path?” I asked.

“I’m an architect. I know less about this stuff than you do.” Emma said.

I stare at my coffee mug for a few beats.

“Maybe it's something you should ask your fellow creators. Bring it up at the next meeting.” She suggests. “Isn't that what your group does?”

“Sort of. The only things we've come up with so far is what not to do.”

“It's a process of elimination?” Emma responded as she began gathering everything she carries with her throughout her work day. “Just don't listen to that guy Ted.” She said. “I work with men like him. They never know what they're doing.”

“Stephen King didn't have these kinds of problems.” I point out.

“No. He had entirely different ones.” She countered. “And you're not Stephen King. Your journey will be as unique to you as your creativity is. Love you.”

“Love you. Bye.” I lingered over my coffee not really caring how the rest of the day turned out.

I used to believe that if I put my writing out into the world people would find my stories, read them, everything would flow together and eventually become a career. The online equivalent of if you build it they will come. It turns out that the internet is not the field of dreams I imagined it to be.

Back to what’s going on at the moment, this is one of those mornings where I find myself being drawn back to my writing like a dog to an abandoned buffet table. After the breakfast mess has been cleaned up and dinner has been prepped, I sit down at the kitchen table with my laptop and continue writing which means I’m also running late for work. Again. I’m supposed to mow today. My brother’s going to be pissed.

Where was I? Yeah…what to do now...I don’t know. My phone vibrates on the table.

You’re going to be late.

It’s my brother. Did I mention he’s also my boss?

I text back. I got caught up in something. Come pick me up...Please? Which is code for: I’m writing, lost track of time.

Be ready to go! We’ve got a full day!

I send him a blowing kisses emoji.

Girl germs. Gross!

Where was I...field of dreams not happening. I’m not sure what I’m going to do now, what I do know is I’m going to be sharing this chasing online followers shit show with whoever out there finds this post and actually reads it.

I turn off my computer and close it as thunder rumbles around me. I look out the window. The sky has grown dark. Lightning runs along a bank of dark clouds overhead. It thunders a second time as the sky opens up, it starts raining. Hard.

My phone vibrates again, I ignore the message, knowing it’s my brother telling me he won’t be coming to pick me up for work after all. A familiar song plays in my mind.

...it’s like rain on your wedding day...a free ride when you’ve already paid…good advice that you just didn’t take…

It looks like I have the morning off. I return to the novel I’ve been working on. The goblin king has exhausted all resources, made the near fatal journey to the temple of Danu to pray to the goddess for aid. He’s been kneeling at her statue waiting for a response since last Saturday. The suspense has been driving me crazy.

Thanks Alanis. I needed this.
Until next time...this is Chloe Harper and you’ve been reading The Drunken Chronicles.