"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane
I suppose that it could also be called ghetto. Whether you choose to call what I write ghetto or niche (profane or polite) it doesn’t change that fact that it is what it is.
Even as I write this post, I know that someone will snap up pieces of it as a justification for their own choices.
I proved myself to myself in my youth. Yes, I rant and I rage at times, but in those still, calm moments, when I am centered and at peace, I would not change what I have.
I don’t know how many of you ever listened to Frank Sinatra, but his song “I did it my way” has always touched a chord with me. I always did it my way.
It was never easy and there was hell to pay for it more often than not. My grandmother despaired of ever teaching me anything as a child, because for every good solid suggestion she made to me, I came up with a different (frequently less workable) solution to the problem we were discussing.
My daughter is like that also. Many times I just want to slap her. But then I have to shrug and grin, because we all know that paybacks are a bitch. Everything that she does to me, things that infuriate me most, are the exact same things I did to my grandmother.
I keep dragging my feet about trying to get an agent, or even finishing something new to submit to an agent or a publisher.
It all comes down to ‘my way’ and wanting to do things my way.
While I would love to have books published by the majors, I would have to give them what they wanted.
My way. My way is not their way. I have enough fans and an audience base to enjoy. But more important is my lifelong inability to compromise.
So instead, I will keep my niche and plant roses in the flower boxes of my ghetto, and be satisfied with what I have.
Because I can do it my way.