no matter the place or level: published, seeking a publisher, self-published, trying to self-publish; whether the audience towers in the millions or if only one loved one admits an interest, the mission is the same: building buildings we’ve never been in, birthing people we’ve never known, engaging in acts we’ve never done and never will (and should not), generate worlds that are not known to exist and never will exist, and even if any of these are to any extent known, they still must be manufactured – lots and lots of manufacturing of all kinds of items, forms of life, with or without language ability, basically all things that have no tangible existence; even the tools are abstract; none of it exists.
And whether a mega-novel that sprawls generations or a juicy morsel in a quatrain, we must figure out a way to get a potential reader to believe, not only that the existence is real, but to care, and we must figure out how to increase the odds of this happening within the first couple sentences or first line or first words. The reason I know I was chosen as yet another missionary of millions of missionaries in this mission, is that I fail and fail and fail in it, yet there is no way I could ever turn the manufacturing machines off,
so all we can do is try and keep trying and trying and trying and trying…. someday maybe something will come together and fly or float. And in a way it doesn’t even matter that such a dream is no more than its own dream, because that’s about what all of it is anyway.