My name is Jessica and it’s been two weeks since I last ate a doner kebab pizza. I have one finished historical romance, (with a ghost story), out for formal editing. I’ve written a dystopian romance (it doesn’t have any sci-fi or space element to it). I will get to that in the autumn. I’m currently writing vampire stories in preparation for a Halloween release.
It’s summer break. I stand on the verge of over a month of upended routine. This means writing will be sporadic. Not nonexistent but…sporadic. There will be time for reading, and I plan on filling my head with as much vampire, fantasy, paranormal, historical and romantic stuff as possible whilst negotiating…summer. Forget you, reality.
Yet all that aside, I would like to take a moment out there to talk about a few things.
Namely, jealousy, insecurity and loathing.
I will give an example. When I walk into a book store and see successful, best selling books by well known actors or artists. I am jealous.
It strikes me as unfair that these people are allowed the pleasure of writing and getting published like…bam. Never mind that said folks are actually producing quality children’s books as well as staring in well known programs and they entertain me or make me laugh, the fact that they get to enjoy instant success with another artistic medium due to not only their talent but their already established name really grates on me. I tried to convince my son not to buy ‘Billionaire Boy’. It didn’t work. Little bugger read it right in front of me. This success in literature grates on me.
I am ashamed to say so but dear God it does.
*cue glaring green emoji*. I’m sorry David Walliams and Bear Grylls. Forgive me, I wish I was a better person.
Whenever I see crappy reality television celebrities bringing out memoirs I honestly feel sorry for the people who buy them. Not jealous or spiteful, just a bit sad.
I loathe marketing people. Folks who think of nothing but sell sell sell….they fill me with disgust for the human condition. I feel these people should be on an old fashioned market stall, smiling and bowing and scraping for every penny because they don’t care about a damn thing apart from making money. If they want to worship money they should wind up in a lonely ‘heaven’ of heavy coins to swim in. Like in that treasure room in Gringotts bank in Harry Potter or Smaug’s lair in the Hobbit.
They don’t deserve to earn millions and talk about targets and set about looking at website traffic and stalking people on social media to find out what’s #trending. Perhaps there was a time when people sold products they genuinely believed in….but now I think too many folks think sell first and product quality or validity later.
I desire their happiness and dignity on a pike before the city gates.
Ever heard the song ‘Going Backwards’ by Depeche Mode?
It makes me think of ‘cookies’ and market researchers and opportunistic sales people. Maybe that’s not what Depeche Mode meant with the song but that’s what it conjures for me.
I read about a blogger selling five star reviews to struggling authors. That is both pathetic and disturbing. I officially loathe that blogger. But that ruthless woman makes money off of people desperate to be seen in the exceptionally competitive world of books and literature available online.
There are people selling ‘wellness’ and ‘truth’ and ‘self confidence’ and ‘success’ and ‘inner peace’ just like there are people selling sexual imagery and war. They mostly have orange faces and whitened teeth. I trust very few people with orange faces and whitened teeth.
My point is, we are supposed to be moving forward in society. We are supposed to rise above jealousy and bitterness and animosity against our fellow human being. We are supposed to ACTUALLY help one another. Not pretend to help people so as to benefit and line our pockets.
So….why am I so filled with loathing, insecurity and jealousy towards my fellow human being? Because the lack of balance in this world upsets me and I blame salespeople. I blame those who have sacrificed their morality on the sacred slab dedicated to lost souls and butt kissers so that they can go on holiday in Thailand.
I don’t blame David Walliams or Bear Grylls. I might be jealous of them…but I don’t blame them.
To a certain extent I blame a lack of education and poor life choices of the hoards who love crap like reality television, celebrity gossip and the memoires of reality television stars.
So if I see anyone sat around a pool this weekend reading a book with some orange faced, bleach white toothed person on its shiny, overpriced cover….
I am going to make sure they are engrossed in their book so that I can discreetly roll my eyes as I walk past them.
They won’t notice me.
No danger there.