Firstly, of course, the pursuit keeps the mind active. That’s a given.
But am I creating stories just for my own pleasure? I could just as easily think the subject through. But that doesn’t exercise the hands and stimulate the mind to think of ways to express those thoughts.
No, I want people to see what I’ve written, to cherish the world I’ve built in my two series of fantasy books. The Moonstone series, set in the present day, is a woman who inherits a ring which gives her visions of being inside someone else’s mind in times of stress and helping in some way. The co-written Higher Ground series takes the personalities of the characters into a dystopian Britain—Britland--and sends them on adventures which lead to the seeking of the moonstone ring.
My books on Amazon:
I have more books in the process, but why should I go on when nobody is reading them?
At the age of 76, I have no group of friends to cheer me on and support me. I live in a secluded area half way down a hill, or up, if you look at it the other way, so I am unable to get out and about to spread the word about my work.
All the works of creation have been assisted by the online group, The Internet Writers Workshop, which ensures they are of top standard, or as good as I can make them, and then edited again by my publishers. But every month I receive a statement which shows no novels have been sold.
So why go on? For a wise (read mature) woman, the reward of fulfillment used to exceed the effort needed. There was no time to decry my advancing years or worry about whether I need a face-lift. I was happy doing what I loved with nothing to hold me back. Now, I’ve lost the heart for the pursuit, which used to be the driving force of my life.
What is the meaning of my existence? Or yours, for that matter? And when do we just give up?