Too many words, too little time…

A new word for Extraneous Articulations-

While perusing my twitter account, which is what I’m supposed to do now that I’m a published author. I am finding that ambiguity is meaningless in the world of publication. You want your face out there and loved so that everyone will want to read and buy, don’t forget the buying part, for that is how an author gains the privilege of living by what they love. No longer do you write for the love of seeing your thoughts and characters take form on a piece of paper, or in modern terms, the computer screen… it’s about selling and getting and giving of your soul to gain the public’s trust enough to part from their dollars which are representations of the pieces of their soul that they have given up in the form of employment.

Wow, am I becoming a little cynical? Maybe. I have become part of the social media crowd that I have disdained for so long. Check out my Blog… follow me on Twitter… I have a new Facebook page… I feel as though I am five again pleading for the attention of the adults around who have better things to do in their self-absorbed lives than to listen to the attention-getting attempts of a rambunctious child.

Please don’t do that… My childhood was as pleasant as the next person’s thank-you-very-much. My parents worked hard to get me what I needed; I love and cherish my memories of them. It is society that cheated me out of a functional childhood, not my family. Bullies and assumptive teachers who taught me that the world is a place to be shunned, not a place to be part of… but I ramble and get away from myself…

While perusing my new Twitter follower… yes, I do have a few, surprise, surprise!

I was reading through a review He wrote for Bookslut and was absolutely flabbergasted by the sheer cognicity (a made up form of cognizant-not a real word) of his written opinion. It was a review for the book Rebellion by Joseph Roth; I found myself wanting to read about Andreas Pum and his judgmental donkey, even though I avoid books about reality like the plague, it doesn’t mean I don’t read them, by-the-way, it just means that I’d rather read a book, where I can get lost in the ethereal reaches of my imagination; where I can escape the world and what being a part of the world really means. I loved his review and his cynicism about acting and compassion and, well…

Anyways; first, I stumbled across the word solemnity, and though I had a general knowledge of its meaning, I looked it up because I like to know the whole meaning, and not just what I think, even when my thinking is correct.

And second, I decided that I do not ever want Nicholas Vajifdar to review any of my books. I would never place myself in league with the great author’s; I’m only a humble writer, putting my imagination to the written word. Have mercy, please!

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